Surrender
by DJNS
Summary: Picks up after the Season Four finale.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Jane The Virgin. I am simply a Cordueva fan who has decided to write her own endgame. This story picks up where the season finale left off. This is how I would want the season to play out. Fair warning, this story will contain spoilers so read at your own risk.

 **Prologue – 1 minute after Jane and Michael come face to face (Jane POV)**

It feels like I am having a bad acid trip. My entire body is suddenly clammy with sweat. I can't get enough air into my lungs now matter how much I gulp down. My heart is pounding a crazy, staccato rhythm, the rapid beats echoing in my ears. And my legs…my legs feel boneless, jellied and trembling. I'm surprised my knees don't buckle. I'm torn between vomiting and bursting into tears. I'm actually afraid I might do both. Yep, this definitely feels like an acid trip.

Now, of course, I don't know the first thing about acid or how it makes you feel when you're riding the high. In fact, the closest I've ever come to an illicit drug was a secondhand marijuana high I received at a 12th grade party. So, I can't definitively say that what I'm feeling presently is comparable to an acid trip but I have to imagine that the sensation is pretty close.

There is a fuzzy border framing my world right now. It's as if the backdrop of Rafael's apartment has fallen away and all I can see, all I can process, is my once dead husband standing six feet in front of me. I don't feel the floor. I don't even feel my body.

It's as if my world has gone off kilter, tipping and tipping and taking me with it on a mad, disorienting tumble. I'm drowning in muddled emotion, unable to verbalize a single word and yet I can feel myself stumbling forward, plucked along by an invisible thread…closer and closer until Michael and I are close enough to touch, until I'm close enough to appreciate the startling clarity of his blue, blue eyes.

I drink in the changes I see, the gaunt planes of his face, the fuzzy tufts of blond scruff that conceal his cheeks and chin, the guarded posture that was once uncharacteristic for him. None of it is like the Michael I remember and yet, as I look at him, the Michael I remember is all I see. I can hardly believe that he is standing in front of me right now, alive and breathing, more aloof than I remember but still so invitingly familiar. This face is the face that has haunted my dreams for five, long years…a face that I never thought I would see again.

There had once been a time when I couldn't imagine my life without him, when I had believed that we would be together forever. That certainty had sadly been replaced with the realization that forever couldn't be ours…at least not in this life, and that I had no choice but to go on without him. But, it appears, I had been wrong about that too and now here we are.

It is little wonder that this moment feels like a dream, like an hallucination that I have conjured up in my desperate imagination. I'm almost half convinced that I have, that I'm having complete mental breakdown in the middle of Rafael's apartment right now. Surely that possibility is more plausible than my dead husband standing less than two feet away. And so I have to prove to myself that I'm not nuts and, before I can talk myself out of it, I'm stretching out my hand to touch him.

His response is immediate and visceral. He recoils from me like a wounded animal, staring at me with cautious eyes brimming with mistrust. I drop my hand and falter back a step, devastated and confused by his reaction. Surprisingly, Rafael is the one to answer the unspoken question poised on my lips.

"He doesn't remember you, Jane."

The statement, flat and brusque, leaves me emotionally disoriented yet again. I throw a staggered glance back at Rafael, unable to grasp the enormity of his simple explanation. I even choke out a short, hysterical laugh before I begin mindlessly babbling my confusion aloud. "What is this? What the hell is happening right now? Am I crazy? Am I going crazy? What is happening, Rafael?" My voice breaks as the tears come full force, blurring my vision and burning acridly in the back of my throat. They garble my words so that I sound unintelligible even to my own ears.

"Is this Michael? Is this really Michael? I don't understand what's happening! What do you mean he doesn't remember me?"

It is at that point that, at last, Michael finally speaks and I hear his voice aloud for the first time in five years. The overwhelming emotion of the moment is almost enough to send me to my knees. I even forget to breathe.

"Is…is this her?' he asks Rafael with a degree of hesitation, "Is she the one you told me about?"

"Yes," Rafael answers evenly, "This is Jane. This is your wife."

My eyes have been bouncing back and forth between them during this brief exchange but land on Michael as he expels a shuddering breath. I regard him steadily as I wait in anticipation for his response to that. He must read some silent plea in my expression because he regards me with a small, sad shake of his head. The gesture confirms my worst fear and yet I still can't stop myself from asking him anyway. I need to hear him say the words even if they are the last words I want to hear him say.

"Michael?" His name on my tongue feels like coming home and I have to say it over and over again because I've missed saying it so much. "Michael, do you really not remember who I am?" I ask him in a tiny voice, "Do you really not remember what we are to each other?"

It's not necessary for him to reply. I can see the truth in his eyes and the answer was there long before I ask the question. There is absolutely no recognition in his expression. I can see sadness and grief and a profound loss of hope and even a reluctance to disappoint me but I don't see affection or longing or love. I don't see Michael. He is looking at me like I am a complete stranger. In that moment, it feels like I'm losing him all over again, like he is dying all over again but, this time, right in front of me. I turn away from him quickly to conceal the sobs that are threatening to erupt.

"I'm sorry," I hear him say from behind me, "I wish I could tell you something different. I wanted it to be different. I wanted to remember. That's why I agreed to come here. I thought you could help me."

His words cause me to stiffen, suspicion suddenly quelling my sorrow. I pivot slowly to face him once again. "You agreed with who to come here?"

He hitches his chin towards Rafael and it doesn't escape my notice that the latter seems to have difficulty meeting my eyes. I round on Rafael then, suddenly seething with rage as I fully grasp what Michael's admission means. "How long have you known?" I spit and he actually flinches in response.

"Jane, please don't overreact. Let me explain…"

"Oh you can explain," I scoff bitterly, "You can explain how you knew that Michael was alive and you didn't tell me? You can explain why you let me go on thinking he was dead, that I would never see him again? You can explain that?" With every accusation I hurl, he winces as if he is being pummeled with fists instead of words. But I am immune to his guilt, his sorrow, his fear in that moment. All I can feel is anger and hatred and confusion. "Tell me the truth! How long have you known?"

"Not long."

"And what does that mean? A week? A month?" An insidious possibility creeps up into my being when I fearfully ask him, "Have you known the entire time, Rafael? Did you keep him from me on purpose?"

Rafael appears genuinely hurt that I would even consider such a thing and his disgust and disappointment are evident in his reply. "Of course not! How could you even _think_ such a thing, Jane? I'm as blindsided as you are!"

I raise my chin to a haughty angle, refusing to be cowed with guilt when I have _nothing_ to feel guilty about. "Did you know last night?" His dark eyes fall away at the question. "Then no, Raf, you definitely _weren't_ blindsided like me."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One (Jane POV)**

The tension is almost tangible within the walls of Rafael's tiny apartment. It feels thick, like a shroud, confining and oppressive and distinctly uncomfortable. I am vaguely aware that somewhere behind me, Rafael has dropped down onto the nearest chair and has buried his head in his hands. I don't know if he's crying right then but I suspect that he wants to.

I can imagine that this is a difficult moment for him. Witnessing firsthand your almost live-in girlfriend and hopefully soon-to-be fiancée have a reunion with her not so dead husband whom she had once rejected you for could not be easy. I know how he feels about Michael, all the deep-seeded insecurities he has harbored all these years and it breaks my heart to think that they might be resurfacing now.

And there is a very real part of me that yearns to go to him and offer heartfelt reassurances. There is a part of me that wants to tell him that nothing has changed, that I love him as much now as I did last night and that I will always love him. I want to tell him that this will not derail our lives in any way but…I can't. Because, right now, I don't know if I can make those promises at all. I'm not sure of anything anymore. Everything I thought I knew wasn't in the least bit true. It reminds me very much of how I felt when I first learned I was pregnant with Mateo, only back then, the circumstances had been reversed between Michael and Rafael. The irony of our present situation is not lost on me.

The truth is, I cannot let myself focus on Rafael and his pain because I can hardly see past my own. I can't comfort him when I'm crying out for comfort myself, when I'm so twisted up in confusion and questions and grief that I can hardly think. I have no idea how we've come to this moment. Surreal is too insufficient a word to describe it.

Michael is supposed to be dead. I grieved for him. I buried him. And then I tucked him away deep inside my heart so that I could move forward with my life. I _did_ move forward. I fell in love again. I found my purpose again. I could believe in a future again, a future that didn't include him and I made my peace with that painful reality. And now here he is, standing in front of me as if none of that had ever happened.

There are two possibilities before me now…that Michael intentionally faked his death and allowed me to grieve for him this entire time _o_ r that someone had kidnapped him and, in the process, turned all of our lives inside out. Knowing Michael as I do (or, at least, I _had_ ), I am more inclined to believe the latter, especially when I suspect that Sin Rostro must be involved in this mess up to her perfectly plucked eyebrows. The Michael I knew and loved would have never put me through such hell, not on purpose. _Never_ on purpose.

Still, I cannot dismiss the reality that the Michael standing before me now is not the Michael I had fallen in love with. _This Michael_ is clearly uncomfortable in my presence and appears rather eager to be out of it. _This Michael_ quite likely places no value on the history we share. _This Michael_ doesn't seem half as shattered to see me as I am to see him. Honestly, the expression on his face, the blank way he's looking at me, this man doesn't seem like _my_ Michael at all but it's difficult to reconcile myself with that particular truth when he has my Michael's face. And, for that reason alone, I know I'm not going to be able to let him go.

He is starting to shift and fidget and it's pretty obvious by the way his eyes keep darting nervously towards the door that he wants to get out of there. That prospect terrifies me more than I can put into words because I have no doubt that this Michael would have no problem walking out of my life and never looking back. I can't let that happen. I know that if it was to happen, it would shatter me into a million pieces and this time and I wouldn't recover. Not again. This time I wouldn't be able to put myself back together. So I do the only thing I can think of to get him to stay. I ask him to tell me a story.

It is evidently the last thing he expects because he blinks at me in startled confusion, his brow creased with an incredulous scowl. "Excuse me? You want me to what?"

"Where have you been all this time?" I ask him softly.

A few anxious ticks of silence pass before he finally says, "Texas. Houston mostly."

I regard him with a perplexed frown before glancing back at Rafael for confirmation. He merely shrugs, making it clear by his body language that Houston is indeed where he had found Michael but, beyond that small detail he is unable to provide me the answers I really needed. I turn back to Michael.

"Houston? I don't understand. What were you doing in Houston? Why did you leave in the first place? What happened to you?"

Now it's Michael's turn to shrug noncommittally. "I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me. I woke up in a hospital there six months ago."

His explanation only serves to confuse me further. I take an unconscious step closer. "A hospital? Why were you in the hospital?"

To my everlasting frustration, he simply responds with another shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"That's not an answer."

"Okay. I will give you the details as they were told to me," he says, "Apparently, I was found in a ditch off the highway, half dead. The doctors told me if I had been there any longer, I would have been all dead and that's all I know."

"You don't know how you got there?"

"Nope. But if the ass beating I took is any indication, somebody wanted me dead." His levels me with a probing look that borders on mistrust and it guts me a little to see the suspicion in his eyes. "You wouldn't happen to know who that might be, would you?"

"No!" I cry vehemently because I almost sense a mild undercurrent of accusation in his tone, "I didn't try to kill you, if that's what you're implying! We were happy together. Everyone loved you, Michael!"

"Obviously not everyone," he avers sarcastically, his mouth twisted in a humorless smirk.

Strangely his acerbic reply unfurls a tiny thread of optimism inside of me because he almost sounds like _my_ Michael and fills me with the hope that the man I married is still in there somewhere. "You were a police detective. You definitely made enemies with your work. It's very possible that one of them came after you. It's happened before." Truthfully, that is my primary theory right now. I'd stake my life on it. Michael, on the other hand, seems less than convinced.

He snorts a laugh at the very possibility. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What do you mean?"

"Lady, if you knew what I've been doing for the last six months just to survive, a police detective is _not_ the first thing you would take me for."

My heart withers a little to hear the wry rancor in his tone. When I think about what his life must have been like all this time, how lonely and terrifying it must have been for him, I literally feel sick. "Well…you did used to steal cars with your brother when you were a kid," I whisper, "so your relationship with the law has always been little…spotty."

The faint smile that wobbles briefly at the corners of his mouth collapses completely when Rafael scoffs, "I guess old habits die hard."

I whip around to face him with a narrowed glare. "Really? You think that's necessary right now?"

Rafael's steely glare does not waver. His expression is stony with anger when he replies, "I'm just saying, Jane. He's not a boy scout. Stop trying to make him out to be one. That's always been your problem when it comes to him."

"That's not what I'm doing," I hiss before lurching around to give Michael my attention once more.

I can only imagine what he must be thinking following my terse exchange with Rafael. I'm not surprised when I see that he is darting a careful glance between me and Rafael, his keen, blue eyes filled with wariness and unspoken questions. He may not remember being a detective but that doesn't mean he's impervious to picking up on unspoken cues. Based on his frown, I'm almost certain he is wondering just what the hell he got himself into and whether or not he wants to be a part of it.

"It's complicated," I mutter in a terse tone when I read that exact expression on his face.

"I'm picking up on that," he replies, "Are you sure you want me to stay? Cause I'll be happy to take off if you two need to work some things out…"

I sidestep and block his path when he moves to do exactly that. "I don't want you to go anywhere. I want to know where you've been and what's happened to you all of these years."

"I've already told you what I know."

"What about before that?"

"I don't know about before that."

"Michael, you've been gone for five years and you're telling me you only remember the last six months of it?"

"That's what I'm telling you. I don't know where I was before. I don't know how I got to where I was. All I know is that I've been trying to figure that out for the last six months and a week ago…" he pauses to point at Rafael, "…that guy shows up at my house and tells me he knows who I am."

"Really?" I utter, turning this new information over in my head, "A week ago." I pin Rafael with an accusing glower. "Seven whole days and he never said a word."

"My God, Jane," Rafael cries in exasperation, surging to his feet, "Do you really blame me for needing some time to process the situation? Your husband just literally came back from the dead! Forgive me for reeling!"

"Oh well, please accept my sincerest apology, Raf," I fling back, sarcasm dripping from my every word, "Because, of course, this is all about _you_ and _your_ feelings! How could I be so thoughtless?"

Rafael hangs his head with a small, frustrated huff, resting his hands lightly on his hips as he takes a moment to collect himself. When he looks at me again, his gaze is imploring. "Don't look at me like that. I was trying to protect you. I couldn't come to you right away. I had to be sure that I was dealing with Michael and not an imposter. You know our history with that! I _had_ to be sure."

"And how long did that take? When _exactly_ were you sure and how long did you stay quiet about it?"

"I wasn't going to keep it from you indefinitely. I planned to tell you as soon as I knew for sure. That's why I invited you here tonight. I wanted you to know the truth."

"Yeah…just on your timetable, like always, Raf."

From the corner of my eye, I glimpse Michael fidgeting anew, growing increasingly discomfited as Rafael and I fight over him. He shifts his weight anxiously, his arms crossed in a defensive gesture and it's easy to discern that the only thing he wants to do is to get out of there. His next words confirm my suspicions.

"Hey…um…listen, I can see you two have a lot to work through and I don't want to get in the middle so I'm gonna head out and leave you to it…"

"NO!" Rafael and I shout in simultaneous vehemence. I slice Rafael with a withering glare before directing my attention back to a "ready to bolt" Michael. "Don't you dare move," I order him.

Michael holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay. Simmer down now."

"Where do you think you're going? You can't leave," I tell him, "You just got here."

He splays out his hands in a helpless gesture, as if supplicating reason from me, as if the expectation that he stay is irrational in itself. "I don't know what to tell you. I came here hoping to get some answers about my past. That's obviously not going to happen. I don't want to waste your time or mine."

"You wouldn't be wasting my time," I tell him gently, "You're my husband, Michael. You belong here."

"You see, you say those words but they don't mean anything to me," he says gruffly, "I want them to mean something. I really wish they did but they don't. And I just don't see the point in prolonging this whole thing."

"You don't see the point? Michael, you have a family. Your parents think you're dead. You have people who love you, who were devastated when they thought they had lost you. How can you not see the point?"

"Like I said…none of that means anything to me. I don't know those people and I don't know you."

"Well, how do you expect that to change if you leave?"

He might feel like we're perfect strangers but it's pretty easy to discern his motives right now. It's clear to me that what's driving him isn't disinterest but a loss of hope instead. He came here with high expectations for recovering his memories only to have them dashed. He doesn't want to stay because he fears the disappointment, the possibility that he may never find himself despite being surrounded by the familiar. He's afraid of the potential loss if he tries. His next statement to me confirms my assumption.

"Maybe it won't ever change," he replies obstinately, "It hasn't this entire time. I can't spend the rest of my life hoping for something that's never going to happen."

 _You've done it before._ I nearly say the words aloud. I nearly remind him that, in times past, he had waited out my relationship with Rafael, even when it had seemed bleak, even when I rejected him again and again, because he had _known_ in the end it would be the two of us…and he had been right. But that was the Michael I married and this Michael has clearly been broken too many times to have that kind of optimism. He has no point of reference for it. So I know I can't rely on the past to convince him because, at this moment, our past means absolutely nothing to him.

I decide to appeal to his reason instead. "You don't know for sure that you won't get your memories back and you won't know for sure…unless you stay here and try."

"Why would you want me to stay?" he retorts, "You seem like you've got your hands plenty full right now. I don't want to be dragged into the middle of your relationship drama."

I blink at him in dismayed incredulity. "Excuse me."

He shoves his hands into his pockets and regards me with a frank expression. "Why don't we just be honest here? You and him…" he jerks his chin curtly in Rafael's direction, "You're a thing. Am I right?"

Though I don't acknowledge it, I can practically feel Rafael's eyes boring into my back as he and Michael wait for my answer. Rather than confirming or denying the accusation, however, I circumvent his question altogether. "This isn't about Raf and me," I tell him, earning simultaneous groans of consternation from him and Rafael. "And it's not about you and me either!" I rush to add before Michael attempts to counter, "This is about family. You are _my family_ , Michael. I can't let you just walk away. How am I supposed to live with myself if know you're out there confused and alone?"

"I won't be alone."

"That's not the point!"

"You don't have to feel guilty! I'm absolving you of responsibility."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Says who?"

"Says me! I can't go back and pretend you're still dead! Sorry to disappoint you!"

"It's not _my_ disappointment that you should be worried about."

I almost throw up my hands in aggravation. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you don't know me and I don't know you," he reiterates, "We don't owe each other anything. I don't want you to get your hopes up or and I don't want to get my hopes up for something that seems like it's not going to happen. You know I'm alive. I know where my past is. Maybe this is all we can hope for. We should just move on from here."

"Are you kidding me? You are my husband! Until ten minutes ago I thought you were _dead_. Nothing is the same anymore! Do you not get that?"

"Yeah…I understand this complicates your life."

"You think?"

"So let me go. I don't want to make this harder for you."

"Then stop trying to leave! Do you think that's going to help? My whole world is upside down right now!"

"So is mine!" he fires back, startling me with his intensity and the loss of the guarded detachment he's held to so firmly. A beat of silence passes between us as he takes a second to compose himself. When he speaks again, his tone is softer and devoid of anger. "When I agreed to come here it was because I thought you might be able to help me find who I am," he replies gruffly, "I wanted that so much but… That's obviously not going to happen and I need to find a way to live with that."

"There you go again. How do you know it's not going to happen?" I charge him once again, "It sounds to me like you're just making assumptions because you're afraid."

"You're damned right I am!"

"The man I knew is not a coward!"

"And that's the point," he flares, "I'm not the man you knew! I don't even know who that is!" But he completely belies that statement when he winces guiltily after I begin to sniffle, losing the fight to keep my tears a bay. "Look, don't do that," he begs penitently, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…I didn't mean to make you cry. Please stop doing that."

He rakes both hands through his shaggy, blond hair and expels a shuddering sigh. "I'm not blaming you. This is all my fault. _I_ did this. I thought that if I came here, if I knew where home was, if I could be with the people who loved me, that all my memories would come flooding back and I would be who I was before," he says in a thickened tone, "But I'm here and I'm looking at you and you're saying all the things I've wanted to hear for so long and I'm still in the dark…and I can't help but feel defeated.

"I've been stuck this whole time because I don't know who I am, so I've never felt like I could go forward," he finishes hoarsely, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, "Now it seems like I have no other choice. So I just want to do that. Just let me do that."

I whisk away the tears falling on my cheeks and square my shoulders. "Well, that's the difference between us, Michael. Maybe you want to move forward and pretend like none of this matters but…I'm not ready to give up on you yet. I just got you back."

"You haven't been dealing with this for the last six months! I have! I'm tired and I'm done."

He tries to walk away then but I'm beyond determined not to let him disappear from my life a second time. I snag hold of his sleeve to waylay him. "You haven't given it enough time," I argue stubbornly, "Yes, maybe you've been back in town for a week but you've been hidden away from your family and your friends this entire time.

"Instead of running, spend some time with us. Get to know us. Let us know you. Give yourself time to be home again…and I _know_ your memories will come back."

He won't look at me. It's as if he's trying to build an emotional wall between us so that nothing I say to him will penetrate. But something in my gut tells me to keep fighting, that somewhere deep inside of him, Michael wants me to keeping fighting too. After all, he's the one who taught me how. And so I can't give up, even in the face of his continual rejection. I just can't.

"Don't you want to know what happened to you?" I whisper, "Aren't you even the least bit curious about who stole five years of your life from you… _from us_? Because I sure as hell want to know! I want them to pay for what they've done."

"Will it matter in the end?" he wonders softly, "All that time is still gone. I can't go back and get it. This is the way it is now."

"I won't let us be strangers, Michael. There's no way in hell."

I watch as conflicted emotions flicker across his face he finally turns to look at me again his blue eyes are full of weary acquiesce. He slumps forward with a heavy sigh. "Why are you pushing this?"

"Because you're my family and I love you."

His internal battle wages anew. I can tell from his posture and the stubborn jut of his chin that he wants to refuse me outright. Later, I'll reflect on this moment and allow myself to feel the sting of his rejection and apathy but right now I don't have time to wallow in self pity. I'm prepared to dog him until he capitulates and that determination is stamped all over my face. He knows it. I'm not going to let him walk out of here without one hell of a fight.

When his shoulders at last stoop in defeat, I nearly breathe an audible sigh of relief. He closes his eyes briefly, his lips compressed in a thin, determined line before he says, "Fine. Six weeks."

"What?"

"I'll stay for six weeks," he clarifies, "If I don't make any progress in that time then I'm gone and this is done. Agreed?"

I don't want to agree. In fact, my first instinct is to argue with him about how arbitrary and irrational his terms are. Surely he can't be serious about placing a timeline on getting to know his family, on reconnecting with his life. The very idea is ludicrous to me. But I realize that isn't something I can convince Michael of using logic alone. I have to _prove_ it to him. He has to live it. He has to see and feel it for himself. He has to experience firsthand what it is to be loved and needed, to be a part of a family. Once he's experienced that I seriously doubt he will ever want to leave. I'm counting on it.

"Agreed," I consent finally, "Six weeks."

He emits a short, stunned laugh. "Okay. That was easier than I expected. I was sure you were going to argue."

"Well, I'm pretty sure it's going to work out in my favor, so…"

That provokes yet another incredulous laugh from him. "Are you always this smug or is that a special quality I bring out in you?"

"Only when I'm right," I reply sweetly, "and I'm always right about you, Michael."

He doesn't bother to counter that statement but the answering eyeroll he gives me in return before stooping to retrieve the small duffle bag next to Rafael's bed is more than enough. "Well, on that note, I think I'll get out of here now. It's been a long night and I need a breather."

"Wait!" I cry, watching with rising panic as he slings the bag up onto his shoulder, "Where are you going? I thought we had an agreement!"

"I said I would stay," he clarifies, "I didn't say I would stay _here_. Besides, I don't think your boyfriend's too keen on the idea of us being roomies so…"

I spare Rafael a brief glance to confirm to the validity of Michael's assertion. He definitely looks less than thrilled, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of frustration, pain, anger and grief. His jaw is set tightly and even from a distance I can sense the tension coming off of his body in waves. I push down my apprehension over his mood and what he must be thinking right then to focus on Michael once more.

"Where are you going to go? You don't know your way around the city. You could get lost."

"I'm a big boy. I'll figure it out. GPS is a modern marvel."

"This is ridiculous. Why don't you just come stay with me and my family?" I offer a little desperately, "We would be happy to have you. My dad is going to go absolutely nuts when he sees you."

He is already shaking his head in refusal before I can even finish. "I don't think that's a good idea. This is overwhelming enough. I can't have too many people coming at me right now."

"Okay, okay, if that's too much pressure on you, Raf and I have friend who owns a hotel. We can get you a room there. It's really nice. You'll be very comfortable. How about that?"

"No, thank you. I don't need your charity."

"Michael, it's not charity. I-,"

"—Listen, if I'm going to do this then it has to be _my_ way and on _my_ terms, okay?"

I somehow manage a nod of agreement without bursting into to tears. "Okay."

Maybe he senses that I am very near to breaking down again because, inexplicably he softens after that, relaxing his guard completely for the first time since our whole crazy encounter began. "I'm not going to disappear on you. I can't tell you that this is going to work out the way you want but I don't go back on my word. If I make a promise, I keep it. You understand?"

"I understand." By some miraculous feat I manage to whisper out a weak, "Thank you," without breaking down into noisy tears.

"You're welcome." He straightens and secures his bag onto his shoulder once more. "You should probably give me your phone number so I'll know how to get in contact with you."

"Oh yeah, of course…" I am still rooting around aimlessly for a pen and paper when Rafael seemingly materializes from nowhere and provides them for me. I favor him with wordless look of gratitude before scribbling my contact information onto the sticky pad I've been provided. After I'm finished, I pass the note to Michael. I refrain from asking for _his_ phone number even though I really want to. I know I'll be pushing my luck if I do.

"Call me whenever you want," I tell him, hoping I don't sound as frantic as I feel, "Day or night. I mean it. I want to hear from you."

He reads the note aloud. "Jane Villaneuva-Cordero? That's your name?"

"Yes. And your name is Michael Cordero. You were named after your father and you turned 34 years old last month."

"Thank you. It seems stupid but…I've been wanting to know how old I am for a while," he says in a wonder-filled tone, "So I'm a junior, huh?"

"You are a junior. Your mother's name is Patricia. And you have a younger brother. His name is Billy but you two haven't always gotten along."

His blues eyes become bright when tears when he asks, "What about us? Do we have kids?"

"No." There is an inexplicable sadness that settles in the pit of my stomach with that answer. I ignore it and finish by saying, "But I have a son and we were raising him together."

"What's his name?"

"Mateo. He'll be six years old in a couple of months."

After he takes a minute to let those small but profound fragments of information wash over him, Michael offers me a fleeting smile before folding the sticky note in half and tucking it into his breast pocket. "I'll be in touch," he promises before heading towards the door. He stops briefly to address Rafael. "Thank you again for me bringing here."

"I didn't do it for you," Rafael replies stiffly, his eyes locked on me as he does, "I did it for Jane."

Michael accepts that laconic response with little more than a nod and then he's gone. And it isn't until that moment, when the apartment is silent and empty of his presence that it really, truly hits me that Michael is alive. He is ALIVE…and somehow Rafael knew about it. And suddenly I'm consumed with the need to know _how_.

I meet his glittering stare with my own. "Alright, you're going to tell me everything you know…starting right now."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two (Jane POV)**

Intellectually, I know it's not fair to blame him. In no way do I believe Rafael had anything to do with Michael's disappearance nor do I think he's responsible for the amnesia Michael is suffering. I won't even entertain the notion that he could have conspired with his crime lord stepmother to kidnap Michael because the idea is simply too absurd. There's not a single doubt in my mind that Rafael is simply incapable of something so despicable. I don't even think he kept the truth from me maliciously. Yet, even knowing and believing all of that, I still can't help but resent him.

He has known for an entire week that Michael was alive or, at the very least, harbored a strong suspicion that my husband was not dead. He knew last night, even after I begged him to confide in me and he said nothing. We had sex, held each other throughout the night, made promises of renewed commitment to each other and still he said nothing. That's when it dawns on me. He actually _had sex with me_ last night with the full knowledge that my husband was alive. When that realization finally hits me full force I feel physically ill.

Hot bile rises to the back of my throat. I groan aloud as waves and waves of nausea wash over me. I must look as if I'm going to keel over completely because Rafael instantly lurches forward, his forehead knit with concern. I throw out my hand to stave him off, biting out from between clenched teeth, "Don't you dare come near me!"

"Jane," he entreats and I can hear the pain in his voice over my reaction, "please let me help you. You look like you're going to be sick."

"I _am_ going to be sick," I warn him mere seconds before I make a desperate dive for the wastebasket and empty my stomach contents into it.

Moments later, while I am still heaving violently into the trash, I feel Rafael's hand glide gently up and down the length of my spine while his other hand tenderly brushes face the tendrils of hair that have fallen across my face. At that precise second, I'm too sick to push him away. I continue to vomit until there is nothing left, until all I can do is dry heave, until my abdominal muscles are aching almost as much as my heart. When I finally settle and I'm left clammy and shaking, I shrug off his touch and roll away from him entirely.

He reaches for me again but I recoil from the gesture. "Don't!"

"I just want to help, Jane. Are you okay?" he asks evenly, "What can I do?"

"You can tell me why you lied to me."

He actually has to gall to shake his head in denial. "I didn't lie. That's not how it was."

I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth and rise to my feet on trembling legs. "A lie of omission is still a lie, Raf."

He responds with a bark of ironic laughter. In the second, I seriously want to throttle him, especially more so when he looks up at me as I'm a misbehaving child who is trying his patience. "Don't twist this into something it's not," he replies tersely, "I asked you to come here tonight, didn't I? I haven't kept a single thing from you. How is that a lie of omission?"

"You're right. You told me everything," I agree, " _After_ we slept together." He jerks his head aside as I continue, "How could you do that? You know what Michael meant to me…what he _means_ to me. How could you let me continue thinking he was dead for a second longer than you had to? How could you have sex with me when you knew he was alive?"

He doesn't meet my eyes but it's not difficult to see the guilt stamped all over him even while he attempts to invalidate my argument. "We've been having sex for months now, Jane. How was last night any different?"

"Because last night, you knew Michael was alive and that would have changed things for me had I known!" To his credit, he doesn't attempt to justify his actions but instead hangs his head in apparent shame. But I feel no triumph over having been proven right. Instead, I feel lost and numb and incredibly alone. Emotionally drained, I stumble over to his bed and sink down onto the edge.

"So what happens now?" he asks me gruffly.

"Why don't you tell me, Raf?" I sigh in a weary tone, "You're the one making all the decisions here."

"That's not fair."

"But it's not a lie either."

"What can I say to you, Jane? You've already made up your mind. You've tried and convicted me in your heart and you don't even know the whole story."

With a surprising amount of measured calm (because I literally want to beat him senseless in that moment), I primly tuck my hands between my knees and regard him with arched brows full of challenge. "So tell me, Raf," I invite him, my words clipped and cold, "Tell me the whole story and then I'll judge."

"You already know that Rose has been calling me…taunting me about my parents…"

"I know. She wanted to manipulate you into telling her where to find your sister," I reply, "Is that what you did? Did you tell her where to find Luisa?"

"Not the truth," he says, "I'll never let her get close to Luisa again, not if I can help it. Rose will find that out soon enough."

"And she'll come after you for lying to her," I surmise with rising apprehension. I'm worried about him even if I don't want to admit that out loud. "You know that, right?"

"Let her. There's nothing more she can do to hurt me. She's already done her worst."

The anguish on his face is too much to bear and I have to look away. He wants me to tell him that we can move forward together like we were planning to do but the words are lodged in my throat. I can't move forward when I've been catapulted back in time five years. I am remembering quite distinctly how I felt when I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Michael Cordero Jr.

Because I can't look at him and I certainly can't share what I'm feeling at the moment, I preoccupy myself with tracing the pattern on his comforter with the tip of my finger. "So she told you where to find Michael in exchange for what amounts to bogus information on Luisa?"

"Pretty much."

"Do you think it's possible she set this whole thing in motion?" I wonder aloud.

"You mean that she faked Michael's death and then waited for the most opportune time to spring him on us again?"

"Yes."

"Knowing Rose, I wouldn't doubt it." His expression becomes pensive. "I can't imagine what her motives would be for doing it but I definitely would put it past her." A sick expression flitters over his face before he adds with great reluctance, "You know it's possible she compromised Michael in some way just to get to me…to us."

I grimace at the suggestion. "What do you mean? Are you saying that you think Michael might have been brainwashed or something?"

"It's possible. Maybe that's why he doesn't remember anything," Rafael considers, "If Rose did have him, we have no idea what she had done to him all that time or what she put in his head."

"Michael would never hurt me." There is no uncertainty in my voice when I say the words. They are full of such earnest conviction that I even surprise myself. This isn't a show of bravado on my part. I believe it utterly. "I don't care what Rose did to him, I'll never believe he's a threat to me."

"What about to me?"

His insinuation provokes my affronted frown. "Michael isn't after you, Raf! He's not capable of hurting anyone!"

"You haven't seen him in five years! You don't know what he's capable of because you don't know him, Jane," he flares fiercely, "I'm just saying that we need to be careful around him because we have know idea what he's been through. If not for your sake and mine then, at least, for Mateo's."

I repress the urge to cover my ears and block out what he's saying because I don't like the direction in which this conversation is headed. The idea that Michael might have been fundamentally changed in some way during his absence, that he could be used as a weapon to hurt me or Raf or even Mateo frightens me to my core. I don't want to entertain the possibility at all but then I also can't dismiss it entirely either.

"We should probably have the body exhumed as well."

I cringe at the suggestion. "The body? You mean the one I buried? You want to dig up Michael's grave? Why?"

"Well, it obviously wasn't Michael so we need to figure out who is in that coffin. Maybe it will provide us with a clue about what happened."

"And you're sure it _wasn't_ Michael we buried?" I ask tremulously, caught in a strange, painful limbo of wanting my life to go back to what it had been earlier that evening and hoping with everything inside me that Michael is back.

"You can put your mind at ease. That was _definitively_ Michael tonight, Jane. DNA doesn't lie."

I break down anew, damming my sobs with the back of my hand, thankful and ashamed all at once that I should even be conflicted about it. I cry until I'm sure I'm empty of all the sorrow bubbling inside of me but when I finally lift my head to look at Rafael again, I can feel my throat burn with tears once again. His pain is a palpable thing, a live entity that is growing bigger with each ensuing second. He looks as devastated as I feel.

"Why? Why would Rose do this to us? Why would she tell you, of all people, where to find Michael?"

"She said the news she had for me that would change my life," he replies, crossing the distance between us to ease down beside me on the bed, "I guess she thought she was doing me a favor by giving me control over whether it came out or not."

"Because she assumed there was a chance that you wouldn't tell me the truth," I conclude, my words roughened by unshed tears.

"Yes." He reaches over to grasp hold of my hand and press it gently between his own. After he brushes several tender kisses across the ridge of my knuckles, he regards me fervently. "But she was wrong about that. I would never keep something like this from you indefinitely, Jane. Please tell me you know that."

I allow myself just the briefest moment of respite, to rest my forehead against his warm, solid shoulder because I needed his comfort right then like I needed air. "I know that."

He turns to nuzzle the top of my head with his lips. "What happened between us last night… I wasn't trying to trick you or manipulate you. I was just so scared of losing you and I wanted to hold on just a little longer."

His words curl around my heart like a velvet hand. He's so earnest and vulnerable in his devotion that I can feel some of my resentment towards him melting away. I want to kiss him and hold him and completely blot out the last confusing few hours and I would if I could forget that Michael was alive. But I can't. That truth is there with every thought I have, every breath I inhale, every heartbeat that thunders in my chest. My entire reality is being shaped by that one, inescapable fact and there is no going back now.

I lift my head from his shoulder before I can begin to sink into the quiet intimacy that has settled over us. Resolutely, I tug my hand from his grasp and scoot away to place a few inches of distance between his body and mine. Rafael expels a long, shuddering sigh of disappointment in response because he recognizes my action as a gentle but decisive rejection.

"You should have told me the truth, Rafael. I know you were scared but I deserved to know."

"I'm sorry. I made a mistake."

"That's not good enough for me."

"Don't do this," he implores me in a sorrowful whisper, "Don't put up a wall and push me away, not now, not when you need me so much."

"I am married," I tell him, irrepressible guilt filling me as I think of all the times he and I have been together and all while Michael was alive. "Michael is my husband, Raf."

He refutes my words with a terse shake of his head. "No, he's not! He was declared legally dead. There is no marriage, Jane. We didn't do anything wrong!"

I lick at the tears gathering in the corners of my mouth. "Then why does it feel like I've betrayed him?" I choke out mournfully, "All this time you and I have been together…I've been breaking every vow that I made him. How is that _not_ wrong?" I bury my face in my hands as I begin to shake with renewed sobs. "Oh my God…I can't believe this is happening right now!"

"You can't beat yourself up for moving on! You thought he was dead! We all thought he was dead!"

I raise my head to regard him through tear blurred eyes. "But he's not. He's not dead. He's alive and he's confused and he's been alone this entire time, Raf."

"That's not your fault."

"It _feels_ like my fault. I should have known! I should have tried to do something! I just accepted he died from complications of the gunshot and I never questioned it and God…we lost five years!" I sob hysterically, "We lost _five_ years!"

"Jane, don't do this to yourself," he whispers pitiably, "Don't do this to us…"

I can't hear the words because guilt is weighing like an anchor around my neck. I feel like I'm drowning, unable to do anything than rock back and forth as I try to deal with the crushing pain. "He needed me. He needed me this whole time and I wasn't there for him. I failed him…"

"How did you fail him? Do you think he's been suffering this whole time without you?" Rafael challenged, "He hasn't, Jane! He's moved on too. For God's sake, he's involved with someone else!"

The words are like a kick to the gut. One moment I'm sobbing over my own perceived failing and the next I feeling eviscerated by the possibility that I might have lost Michael to someone else. I actually feel winded in the aftermath. "What? What are you talking about?"

"When I found Michael in Houston, he wasn't alone. He lives with someone. It seemed to me like they were in a relationship," Rafael explains gently, "He didn't even want to come here. She had to convince him to do it."

The words have a corrosive effect on my heart. It doesn't make any sense and I certainly shouldn't feel betrayed or…jealous but I do and I am and I don't like how helpless and afraid I feel as a result. So I put it away. I compartmentalize my emotions because that is the only way I'm going to be able to navigate through this craziness.

Though it requires an incredible feat of strength, I manage to compose myself enough to ask, "So, is she here in Miami? Did you bring her along too?"

"No. She stayed behind." As I try to measure out the billowing sigh of relief that wants to escape my lips, Rafael says, "The point is, Michael was right when he said that you don't owe him anything. You don't. There's no reason for you to feel guilty because we're together because he's moved on too."

"Were you even listening to a word he said when he was here?" I cry in exasperation, "He has no idea who he is or where he comes from or even what his future is. That is _not_ moving on, Raf."

"Jane, he didn't even want to stay! You _bullied_ him into it! He's fine!"

I twist around to face him with an incredulous scowl. "He lost five years of his life, Raf! He's _not_ fine!"

"Really? Because from what I can see, he's moved on! You're the only one refusing to let go!"

I can't refute his argument but I also can't shake the sense that I'm doing what Michael wants. To an outsider it might appear that I'm forcing the issue but I know that this is what Michael and I have always done. We fight for each other. And while he might not remember who he is and what we were to each other, _I_ remember and that's enough for now.

"I don't expect you to understand," I tell Rafael, "but I have to do this. I _have_ to help him."

"Fine! You don't want him to be alone? He has parents! Let them deal with it!"

"I'm his wife!"

"And you're _my_ girlfriend," Rafael retorts sharply. I snap to attention at his impassioned outburst. "I was going to ask you to marry me tonight, Jane."

I flinch at the reminder, the emotional wall I've erected against him weakening just a bit. "And I was going to say yes."

"So say 'yes' now," he implores, "Please. Let's move on from this."

"I can't."

He stiffens and rises to his feet, his jaw set tight. "You can't or you won't?"

" _I can't_ , Raf," I reiterate tearfully.

"Why?"

"You know why," I whisper, "Because it's Michael."

"Jane, that makes absolutely no sense," he argues, his words thick with unshed tears, "He doesn't even know who the hell you are! You had to _beg_ him to stay here in Miami! He has his own life and you have yours! You know he's alive and he's okay! Why can't that be enough?"

"If you have to ask me that question then you never knew me at all!"

"So what? We pretend like the last five years didn't happen? We pretend like we're not in love, like we weren't going to get married and be a family? I'm just the guy who helped you get over your dead husband?"

"I'm not saying that."

"Then what are you saying? Michael doesn't want this so what are you fighting for?"

"If that's how you feel then why the hell did you even bring him here?" I yell fiercely.

"Would you have preferred it if I hadn't?" he yells back.

I don't answer that question because we both already know the answer and voicing it aloud will only make the situation worse. "I didn't ask for any of this, Raf," I mumble hoarsely.

"Well, neither did I!"

I close my eyes to hold back the fresh tears that arise. It takes several minutes and multiple calming breaths before I'm able to speak again without crying. "I'm sorry this is happening right now," I whisper, "and I'm sorry you're hurt and confused but so am I. I can't tell you that this doesn't change anything. Michael is alive, Rafael. It changes _everything_."

He goes still and quiet and tentative then. "Does it change how you feel about me?"

I flinch inwardly to hear the fearful timidity in his voice. "No. Of course it doesn't. I love you. You're Mateo's father."

"And Michael? Does it change how you feel about him?"

It takes me much longer to answer that question, not because I have to ponder my feelings on the matter but because I'm reluctant to hurt him by voicing them aloud. Declaring my love to Michael had been instinctive and necessary. I couldn't have kept those feelings bottled inside me even if I had wanted to. Confirming that love to Rafael, however, seems like unnecessary torture. The only reason I do answer is because I don't want to lie to him. That will only make things worse.

"I thought he died, Raf. Michael and I didn't break up. We didn't grow apart. He was _taken_ from me. I didn't stop loving him."

He grunts in response to that, his entire frame convulsing a little as if the words had caused him a physical shock. "Well then…I guess the only question that's left is…who do you love more?"

* * *

There are times when I curse the bond I share with my mother. She can always read me, without words and without fail so I'm hardly surprised she can sense something is off with me the second I come dragging through the front door. I haven't even finished kicking off my shoes and throwing aside my purse when she puts her magazine aside.

"What's wrong?" she asks at first glance, "You look awful. Have you been crying?"

Crying? No. Sobbing hysterically like my entire life had just been reduced to smoking ashes? Bingo. I haven't bothered to look in a mirror but I'm pretty sure my face is swollen and mottled and crusted unbecomingly with dried snot. So it's little wonder that Mom is looking at me like she expects me to fall to pieces at any moment. It must be pretty bad too because she's off the couch in a second and pulling me into tight hug.

"Oh my God, Jane, tell me what happened! Did the proposal not go the way you hoped?"

The reminder of the proposal has my throat burning with tears all over again. All I want to do is run to my room and hide for the rest of my life. I stayed with Rafael for nearly two hours more but all we did was talk ourselves in fruitless circles. His argument was simple. I love him. He loves me. We have a son together and, therefore, we should be together. But it is not so simple for me.

Michael Cordero Jr. is more than a footnote in my life. He was my heart, my world. I had wanted his friendship, his touch, his smile, his babies. I had wanted to grow old with him. So much of who I am and who I've become is tied up with him. I can't simply shrug off the memory of what we were even if he doesn't remember me, even if, in the end, he _does_ walk away. And it is for that reason that Rafael and I have reached an impasse. He wants me to let it go, to let Michael go and, from my standpoint, that seems like an impossible expectation. And so I left with nothing resolved between us at all.

Presently, I shrug out of my mother's petting embrace with a sniffle. "There was no proposal, Ma. Raf and I aren't getting married. I'm not even sure if we're together anymore."

"You had a fight? Are you saying you broke up with him because he decided not to propose?"

"I'm saying the timing wasn't right," I reply vaguely, flopping down onto the couch with a plaintive sigh, "And I don't know if it ever will be." I reflexively check my phone, hoping that I might have a missed call from an unknown number (Michael) or a text but there is nothing. Well, not nothing. I have six missed calls from Rafael but I'm not returning those any time soon. I toss my phone onto the side table with a heartsick sigh.

"He hasn't called?" Mom surmises, assuming I am hoping to hear from Rafael. I don't correct her.

"No, he hasn't," I answer glumly, "I'm not sure that he will."

"Oh, Janie." Mom sits down beside me and scoops up my hand in hers. "What happened? What did he do?"

"It's not anything he did. It's what's changed."

She looks at me with a quizzical frown. "What does that mean?"

I want to tell her. I _need_ to tell her. If I don't unburden myself I might just have a breakdown but… My mother has cancer. She is weak and tired and fighting for her life. She has enough on her plate without adding my melodrama to the mix. It's selfish of me to even consider dumping this in her lap and there is a part of my that thinks I should keep it to myself. Then again, it's probably only a matter of time before Michael's return becomes a sensational news story. I want my mom to hear it from me rather than through the gossip mill that is social media or, God forbid, Rafael.

I crane a careful glance over her shoulder to verify that we are indeed alone before I lay this news on her. "Are Mateo and Abuela asleep?"

"It's almost two in the morning! Of course they are."

That isn't reassurance enough for me. "Where's Dad?"

"At home in bed…where I should be," she replies impatiently, "Now are you going to tell me what's going on or are you going to keep asking me ridiculous questions?"

Deliberately ignoring her sarcasm, I scoot closer to her on the couch to take hold of her hands and clasp them in my own. "Listen Ma, I have something to tell you and it's going to be _very_ shocking but, you have to swear to me that you won't freak out. No matter what."

"You're pregnant," she guesses without a beat.

I roll my eyes, unable to fathom why she that would be her first guess when she knows Rafael can't father anymore children. "No. I'm not pregnant."

"Petra's pregnant?"

"She's not pregnant either!" I snap waspishly, "At least, I don't think she is."

"Then who's pregnant?"

"For God's sake, no one's pregnant, Ma!"

"Then what's going on?" Mom presses, "Why didn't Raf propose tonight? Why do you look like you've been run over by a truck?"

"Because…" I preface, pausing to take a deep breath before I simply blurt out, "…Michael's alive."

She doesn't laugh. Well, that's not really accurate. She does laugh but it's more of a disbelieving snort, half cackle followed by a disapproving frown. "That's not funny, Jane," she says in her sternest mother tone.

"Do you see me laughing right now?"

"I'm serious. This is not my idea of a joke."

"Ma, I'm not joking," I insist gravely, "Michael is _really_ alive. I saw him tonight. That's why Raf didn't propose. How can he when I'm already married?"

"Oh…my…God…" _Yeah Ma_ , I think despondently as her features go slack with shock, _that's exactly how I feel_.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three (Michael POV)**

I can't sleep.

It has nothing to do with the fact that my motel room is ratty as hell and in all likelihood came complete with a couple of furry roommates. It's also not because I'm in a strange place, lying in a strange bed and surrounded by strange walls…though that part isn't so great either. Having no reference points to my past has made me greatly appreciate familiarity and predictability in my life. I'm not so big on surprises these days and I'm even less fond of the unexpected. It sounds boring but I crave routine like air. Which is why Jane Villanueva-Cordero scares me so damned much…because there is nothing routine, predictable or familiar about her.

In contrast to her diminutive size, Jane Villanueva-Cordero is assertive and quite bossy. I suspect that she would have actually wrestled me to the ground if I'd tried to leave tonight. It also really unnerves me that she was able to read me so easily, that she called me out on being afraid, that she was even able to discern my motives in the first place. This stranger, this curious, sassy Latina who claims to be my wife but is clearly in love with another man and has a child that isn't mine either, certainly seems to think she knows me better than all others.

And…maybe she does. She definitely had my number tonight which, quite honestly, irritates the hell out of me. The woman hasn't even been in my life for three minutes but she's already taking control and telling me what I do and don't need. But what is even more ridiculous is that I let her do it and I can't figure out why.

I readjust the pillows stacked behind my head as I continue to stare at the sticky note on which Jane Villanueva-Cordero's phone number and address is written. In the last hour, I have considered calling her more than once. I have also immediately discarded the idea more than once. There are a dozen reasons why I shouldn't.

She's a stranger. It's nearly 2 am. She has a boyfriend. The dynamic between us is awkward and undefined. I can't be sure she's alone. It's possible she's changed her mind about me in the last hour. She might be more trouble than she's worth. The list goes on and on but, despite all of that, I can't honestly say that I don't want to call her. There is an undeniable part of me that is captivated, that has a thousand questions to ask, questions that only she can answer. And no matter how many times I tell myself I shouldn't call, I inevitably find myself wrestling with the desire all over again.

It's the proverbial catch-22. I can't bring myself to dial her phone number but I also can't bring myself to throw it out either. I'm stuck, just like I've always been. Only this time what's holding me in place isn't fear of the past but fear of what lies ahead of me. That's what keeps me from falling asleep right now. And so I turn to the only person I know who can talk me down off the ledge I'm on. I grab my cellphone and scroll through my contacts until I find her name. Lorena Diaz. She picks up on the first ring.

"Did I wake you? It's not too late to call, is it?" I whisper, "I know there's a time difference."

"Don't worry. It's an hour earlier here," she reassures me, "Besides I've been waiting to hear from you all day! I couldn't sleep. How did it go? Did you get to meet her?"

"Yeah…I did."

"And?" Lorena prods impatiently.

"And it was weird as hell." I can almost imagine her pursing her lips with an exasperated eye roll and the mental image makes me smile.

"That's not what I'm asking you, goofball!" she laughs, "I want to know if you remembered anything."

I deflate at the question, my smile faltering. "Nope. Not a single thing."

"That sucks." Her disappointed sigh echoes in my ear. I know she's not putting on an act either. Despite how complicated things are between us, I know that Lorena wants me to regain my memory probably even more than I do. "I'm really sorry to hear that, John," she murmurs, "I know you were hoping for a breakthrough."

"I told you there wouldn't be one," I remind her, somewhat cranky about it, "That's why I didn't want to come! This whole trip was a waste of time!"

"Oh shut up. You were being ridiculous then and you're being ridiculous now. This is your wife we're talking about here. You had to meet her." She expels what sounds to me like a plaintive sigh. "I guess, under the circumstances, I shouldn't call you 'John' anymore, huh? That's not your name."

"Well, Michael Cordero doesn't really feel like my name either."

"That's to be expected. It's still new. You never struck me as a 'John Ditch' anyway. I like Michael." She and I exchange a soft, ironic laugh before falling into several seconds of silence right after. I know what's she's thinking even without her saying a word because I am thinking the same thing. I know that she senses, like I do, that everything between us is about to change even though I don't want it to change. But, if I'm honest with myself things have been changing between us for a long time now.

"Listen," she whispers, shaking me from my brooding thoughts, "This day was destined to come. You're going to have to get used to being Michael Cordero…since you'll be living his life from now on."

"I don't know about that. I don't think I'm going to stay here long, Lorie."

Her reaction to that is volatile and shrill. I reflexively pull the phone away from my ear while she screeches, "What do you mean you don't think you're going to stay? This is what you've been wanting the entire time I've known you!"

"So I'm just supposed to leave Marcel to run the body shop without me? He'll go under in a week."

"My brother can take care of himself. You need to focus on what's important right now."

"That's what I'm doing. You and Marcel are important to me."

"What about your wife?"

"What about her?"

"Won't she care if you leave?"

I don't have to think about it. I know absolutely that she would but I don't tell Lorena that. Jane's words from earlier this evening are still ringing in my ears. _Instead of running, spend some time with us. Get to know us. Let us know you. Give yourself time to be home again…_ A chill goes through me with the memory and the fire that burned in her eyes right then. I don't mention the fight and determination that Jane Villanueva-Cordero embodies and the admiration she inspires at all because I know that if I do, I will have to deal with my feelings and analyze exactly why she intrigues me and I'm not ready for that.

So, instead I say, "She's seeing someone, Lorie."

"What?"

"The guy who came for me…he's her boyfriend. They're together."

"Really? Oh…"

"Also, she has a five year old son. He's not mine. And I haven't had anyone confirm it for me but I'm pretty sure Solano is the father. It was just the look on his face when she told me we had been raising her son together. I thought his head was going to explode."

I hear the bed springs creak and groan as she shifts on her bed, probably to cradle the phone closer to her ear. "You're kidding. I would have never guessed he had that kind of history with her with the way he showed up here. Wow that's…that's crazy."

"Tell me about it."

"How does that make you feel?"

Though she is careful to keep her tone neutral I can still detect a note of uncertainty in her words. I know what she's asking even if she won't come right out and say it. "Are you asking me if I'm jealous?" I wonder incredulously, "Because I'm not! I could care less! They're strangers to me. It was more awkward than anything else."

"Why was it awkward?"

"They were fighting with each other the whole time I was there. I guess he didn't tell her about me until tonight and…uh…kind of blindsided her with it. She wasn't happy about it."

"I'll bet," Lorena commiserates, "What did he have to say for himself?"

"He told her that he was trying to protect her, that he had to be sure I was who he thought I was…you know the spiel."

"How did she take it?"

"Like I said, she didn't seem too happy."

"God, guys like that really grate my ass," Lorena grumbles, "They make shady decisions and then try to convince you that they lied to you for _your_ benefit. It's a load of crap."

"Is that a not so subtle dig at me?" I sigh wearily.

"You would have never said a word to me about Solano approaching you if he hadn't shown up at the house!" she snaps, "Every time I think about it I want to throttle you!"

I groan and drag a weary hand over my chin. "I thought we had gotten past this before I left."

"I said I'd _try_ to get past it. But if I'm being honest, I'm still not over it."

"Do you want me to apologize again? Cuz I can do it."

"Why bother? We both know you're not sorry because if you had a chance to do it all over again you'd make the same choice."

There's little point in going back and forth. I know better than to get into a war of words with her so I decide to stage a swift retreat. "Can we not fight? I didn't call you to fight."

"That's right. You called to tell me all about your wife," she replies in a cheeky tone, "So tell me about her."

"I didn't call to talk about that either."

"But that is what we're going to talk about because that's what matters right now," she determines in a tone that demands compliance and tolerates no dissent. I have no doubt she will end the conversation if I challenge her. "So, what do you think about everything…about her?"

That's a good question. There are a lot of emotions bundled up inside me at the moment but I have no idea how to begin to sort them out or where Jane Villanueva-Cordero fits into it all. I don't know where she belongs and I don't know where I belong. I feel lonely, confused, angry, sad, uncertain…but, most of all, I feel afraid. I'm so afraid it's hard to breathe because I know my coveted, precious predictable routine is about to fly out the window. And I can't really verbalize or properly explain how I am literally rebounding from one emotion to the next, sometimes within seconds of each.

Left without an alternative, I go the easier route and simply say, "I don't know." But I know Lorena well enough to know she won't be satisfied with that answer…and she's not.

"Did you feel anything when you saw her?"

"Feel anything? Like what?"

"You know…like a pull or a connection," she clarifies.

"I'm not attracted to her if that's what you're asking me."

"That's not what I'm asking."

I tip my head back against the headboard with a shuddering sigh. "I don't know how to describe it," I mumble, "It was like she was looking right into me, right into deepest part of me, like she knew me…."

"She _does_ know you."

" _You_ know me," I tell her, "No one knows me better than you, Lorie."

"That's what you say now but that's going to change," she predicts sadly, "It's only a matter of time."

"You've been saying that for the last four months and it hasn't happened yet."

"Just wait."

"What's with you? It's almost like you _want_ me to have feelings for her or something!" I burst out, "What about us? Or am I the only one who cares?"

She lashes out at me then and I know it's because I've touched a nerve. She wouldn't be so angry if what I said didn't get under her skin. "Oh, get over yourself already! You're not exactly a sure thing! I'm not going to let myself fall in love with you just so you can walk away when you remember you're in love with someone else!" she declares, her tone flat and resolute, "I'm not into self-hate."

"Well, we have six weeks to see what happens," I reply, "After that, I'm coming home so you'd better be ready to deal with me."

I'm not surprised when she doesn't acknowledge that statement or the underlying challenge that comes with it at all. Yet that doesn't lessen my aggravation when she intentionally changes the subject. "So what's her name?"

"Really? You're not even going to respond to what I just said?"

"What…is…her…name?"

I huff in annoyance over her obstinance but answer her just the same. "Jane. Her name is Jane."

"And? What is _Jane_ like?"

"How the hell should I know? We spent less than half an hour together and in that time I made her cry…more than once."

"You didn't."

"I did," I confirm with a small measure of guilt, "It was like being around me caused her physical pain. I didn't like how it felt. I didn't like doing that to her."

"Sounds to me like she _did_ make some kind of impression on you after all," she speculates softly, "Tell me more. Is she pretty?"

"Come on, Lorena!"

"Is she?"

"I don't know…I guess so," I reply impatiently.

"Describe her to me."

I bite out several curses under my breath. "God Lorena, why are you doing this?"

"One day you'll thank me," she determines, her words thick with emotion, "One day you'll be glad I pushed you this way. Now tell me what she looks like."

Saddened and defeated by her reply, I dutifully close my eyes and conjure Jane Villanueva's image in my mind. As I begin to speak, I don't even have a clear idea of what I'm going to say. The words just come unbidden. They flow from me like rushing water, almost as if they've been dammed up inside of my heart this entire time.

"She's pretty with dark hair and dark eyes with really thick lashes. She looks really young, almost like she could be in high school. I wouldn't take her for a mother at first glance but, when I looked deeper, I could see there was a story there. She's been through hell and back and she survived it all. It's all there in her eyes. But, because she looks so innocent and defensive, it would probably be easy to underestimate her but that would be a mistake because she's…she's full of fire. She's stubborn and bossy and determined and she thinks she knows everything."

"Sounds like you got to know her pretty well after all."

There is no mistaking the tears and devastation in her voice tone and I groan mournfully to hear it. "It's just an impression, Lorie," I say, "You know how I am. I'm always looking too deeply into things."

"But it was your _first_ impression of her and she's your wife, so it _has_ to mean something."

"You asked me."

"You're right. I did ask. But now you can't pretend like you didn't feel anything for her because I know you did."

"It's not what you're making it out to be."

"No, I think it is," she argues lightly, "Jane sounds very much like your type. You've always had a thing for bossy brunettes. Now I know why."

"Oh yeah?" I challenge, "If that's the case, why aren't _we_ together? You're as bossy as they come."

Her breath catches with the sudden, suggestive turn in our banter and it takes her a second to respond. "You couldn't handle me and you know it."

"I'm up for the challenge if you let me try."

"Michael, stop." The sound of that name on her lips is jarring and foreign and it feels very much like being doused in the face with cold water. It's the first time since we met that she has ever addressed me as anything other than John. I can't help but feel her calling me "Michael" now is a deliberate action and I tell her so. "You need the reminder," she declares stubbornly, "You have a family. You can't just pretend they don't exist. You have this whole other life now."

"You're my life," I tell her fiercely, "I wouldn't even be here without you."

That's not an exaggeration. Lorena is literally the reason I'm alive. It's either divine intervention or cosmic coincidence that she and her brother had their car break down less than 20 feet from where I lay unconscious and dying. I tend to lean towards the former because what are the odds that one of the people to find my near lifeless body would be an experienced trauma nurse? Had she not been present that day, I would not be here.

For that Lorena Diaz has earned not only my undying gratitude but my sincerest devotion as well.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four (Jane POV)**

"You haven't answered any of my calls or texts."

I bite back the snappy reply that springs to my lips with Rafael's obnoxious greeting mostly because I'm too emotionally exhausted to deal with his badgering today. Then again, I guess I can cut him some slack for being annoyed with me because he's right. I _have_ been avoiding him and that's not fair. We are in a committed relationship, practically engaged to be married and I've essentially shut him out. But, in all fairness, I haven't singled him out for crappy behavior. I've been keeping everyone I love at arm's length these days.

It's been two days since I found out that Michael was alive and I am still reeling. I've told the story of his miraculous return no less than half a dozen times to half a dozen different people. But no matter how many times I tell the story it never sounds any less bizarre. And it's little wonder that it does sound bizarre. I'm making the claim that Michael is alive and walking around Miami without any shred of proof to back it up. I'm certain that most of my family and friends think I've gone insane. It doesn't help that I haven't seen or heard from him since that night in Rafael's apartment.

I'm worried. Like "poised on the brink of hysteria and ready to have an emotional collapse" worried. The last time I felt this way was after he'd been shot. I can recall how I was in constant knots, unable to sit still but unable to do anything productive either. I had been trapped in a vat of helplessness, left with no choice but to wait and wait and wait. That describes exactly how I feel at this very minute and the wait is every bit as excruciating.

I go back and forth between thinking Michael skipped town after all and thinking something truly awful has happened to him. Suddenly, I am having that same old nightmare again, where I am walking the halls of the Marbella and I see him lying lifeless on the floor no matter which way I turn. On the one hand, I don't want to believe that he would go back on his word to me the other night but on the other hand, it's a preferred alternative to him possibly being hurt or worse.

Again and again, I have to stop myself from calling the police and filing a missing person's report because I can only imagine how ridiculous I will sound. _Hello, officer, my name is Jane Villanueva and I'd like to report my dead husband, who I buried five years ago, missing. Kthanxbai._ It's all an utter mess.

Michael is missing and there's really nothing I can do about it at the moment. To make matters worse, his mother and father have been calling me every hour on the hour ever since they learned the truth and I don't know what to tell them. I don't even know if Michael is okay. The possibility that I might never see him again is making me crazy, so much so that I can't sleep or eat or do much of anything other than worry about Michael and cry my eyes out.

So in this rather precarious emotional state that I'm in, the last thing I need is for Rafael to show up at my Abuela's home unannounced to read me the riot act…but, one look at his face tells me that is _exactly_ what's about to go down. Sighing heavily, I swing the door open wide and step aside so he can stomp past me into the house. I take my time turning back to face him and, once I have, he immediately asks where Mateo is. Not a good start. Yet another clue that he's about to let me have it if he first wants to be sure that Mateo's young, tender ears are nowhere in the vicinity.

"Mom and Abuela took him to the market," I tell him, "They thought I could use some time to myself." A more likely story is that they were eager to be out of my presence as soon as possible because I've been a raging bitch for the past two days now. But I can't help it. I feel anxious, on edge, like a powder keg ready to explode. And, unfortunately, Rafael is about to light the fuse.

"Is that why you haven't returned my calls?" he demands brusquely, "Because you need some time to yourself?"

"Believe me, you dodged a bullet. I haven't been very good company at all."

"And you couldn't pick up the phone and tell me that? You completely ignore me for _two days_ instead?"

"Do you really blame me? My husband just came back from the dead, Raf. I'm entitled to be a little frazzled, I think."

"I know that," Rafael acknowledges with a sudden gentleness in his tone, "I know that this has been a shock for you. So let me help you. Lean on me. We'll get through this together."

"You can't help me."

"Because you won't let me," he accuses me quietly, "You're determined to shut me out."

"I'm not shutting you out," though, in a manner of speaking, I was, "And you can't help me," and he couldn't, "because I don't know where Michael is right now and you can't fix that! I've been going out of my mind for two days!"

Several emotions flitter across his features right then: surprise, confusion and yes…a flicker of relief. And although he is swift about covering it over and adopting an expression of sincere concern, the fact that I had glimpsed the reaction at all leaves me fuming inwardly. "He hasn't called you at all?"

"Did you really think he would after the way you ambushed him and me the other night? What were you thinking?"

He stiffens with righteous outrage, his concern abruptly replaced with a deep scowl. "Wait a minute! You're blaming _me_ for this? I'm the one who brought him home to you, remember?"

"And? Do you want a medal of valor or something?" I fire.

"No! I want you to stop treating me like I'm the enemy, damn it!" he fires back.

I deflate immediately, veering crazily from rage and frustration to guilt. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a mess. I guess I wish you had done things differently."

"I don't know what else I could have done, Jane."

"Don't you?" He looks so genuinely perplexed by the question that I have no choice but to clarify what I mean. "What made you think it was a good idea to have me just show up at your apartment like that without warning me first, especially when you knew he had no idea who the hell I was?"

"I didn't want to overwhelm you."

"No, you didn't think it out because you couldn't see past your own pain!" I cry, "I wasn't prepared to see him and when I did, I came on way too strong and I scared him off. Now Michael is God knows where and that's on me!"

"Jane, Michael isn't a little boy," Rafael sighs, "He doesn't need you to hold his hand and show him the way. He's a grown man and he can take care of himself. If he's missing maybe it's because he doesn't want to be found and maybe that's something you need to accept!"

And, just like that, my anger comes roaring back, full vengeance. I glance at him scathingly. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"What are you saying?"

"It would work out for you just fine if Michael disappeared and never came back!" I accuse him and even as I say the words I know I'm being unfair. But I can't stop the words once they've started to flow. I'm scared and I'm angry and, unfortunately, Rafael is an easy target. "You're probably glad he has amnesia! He's not a threat to you if he can't remember his past, am I right?"

"Is he a threat to me, Jane?" he asks me softly, "Because I thought Michael was your past and _I_ was your future. Was I wrong about that?"

The simple way he dives straight to the heart of what is truly driving my fury leaves me feeling unnerved and vulnerable. I can feel the tears begin to well again. "I'm sorry," I mumble, full of remorse, "I told you before I'm not good company."

"That's not an answer."

"Nothing's changed. I'm confused, Rafael. I don't know what I feel right now."

"You've seemed pretty clear about your feelings for the last six months! Hell, three days ago you knew without reservation that you wanted to be with me!"

"That was before I knew that Michael was alive. I told you the other night that him being back changes things for me…and us."

"But I don't understand _why_ they have to change! Jane, you told me the other night that you still love me," he argues, "and I still love you. We've been in each other's lives for five years! You're my best friend. I want to grow old with you. Your face is the one I want to see every day when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep _for the rest of my life_. You are everything to me. We have a child together. We're a family. How does Michael Cordero fit into that?"

"Because everything you just said I am to you is everything he was to me. He's _my_ family, Raf."

"Was…or still is?"

"I don't know," I reply and that is honestly how I feel. I don't know anything anymore.

He blinks back the tears gathering in his eyes. "I guess it's all a moot point anyway because he doesn't remember you, Jane. And it seems like to me he doesn't want to."

Though I know there are hurt feelings behind Rafael's words, they still shatter what is left of my ailing heart because that has been my greatest fear for the last two days. I'm not only distressed by Michael's return and devastated by his memory loss but I'm also terrified by the possibility that he will never recover those memories or, worse yet, that he might not want to. Given the circumstances and everything he's endured, it's reasonable to think he would prefer to keep his distance and figure things out on his own but, even with all that logical reasoning, it still feels like rejection to me.

"I'll deal with all of that when I find him," I tell Rafael, shaking off those lingering doubts, "But first I have to find him."

Rafael accepts that determination with a nod before forging ahead. "In the meantime, how do you want to proceed with this situation?"

I survey him with a dull, perplexed look. "Proceed?"

"I spoke to your mother this morning. She told me that she knew about Michael and that you told the rest of the family last night." I jerk a nod of confirmation. "Have you told his parents?"

"Yep."

"How did they take it?"

"His father is in shock. His mother is hysterical. She's been calling me nonstop ever since."

"Well, it's a lot to take in…" Rafael considers. _Don't I know it?_ "You didn't tell Mateo yet, did you?"

"No. Not yet. I'm still trying to figure out what I want to say."

It's not that I haven't considered telling him. I've had to stop myself dozens of times over the past two days. But I just can't imagine how that conversation should go. While Michael had played a huge part in Mateo's early development and they had been close back then, Michael had "passed away" before Mateo turned two, well beyond his formative years. I've done everything I could over the years to make Michael as real to him as I can…showing him pictures, telling him stories, sometimes taking him with me when I visit Michael and Patricia. I have even taken him camping a few times (disasters every time) because I wanted to share something with him that Michael had loved.

For the most part, Mateo has always been accepting of my connection to Michael. He's never questioned it. He knows how much I loved him and I how much I missed him. In many ways, my dear Mr. Sweetface has even been protective of that connection. But, despite all the pictures and stories and fond memories, Mateo doesn't have a real flesh and blood relationship with Michael and I don't mean that in just the genetic sense. Up until this point, Michael has been a memory, a ghost, a shadow of the past. I'm not entirely sure how my little boy will react when he's faced with Michael the reality. Rafael's reply to me makes it clear that he is harboring the same reservations.

"I think we can put it off for a while. He's too young to handle something this heavy and he doesn't even remember Michael. When the times comes, we'll tell him together."

I am shaking my head in refusal before he even finishes the sentence. "That's not necessary. Mateo may not remember Michael but he knows who he is. The hardest part will be explaining the whole 'back from the dead' part."

"Jane, it's more than that. This is going to be very confusing for him," Rafael maintains, "He knows that you were married to Michael before and that he was very important to you and knowing Michael is alive might make him feel insecure about us being a family. We need to present a united front to our son so that he knows his life isn't going to change."

"Is this about Mateo or you?" I challenge, "Are you sure you're not projecting your own insecurities onto our son right now?"

"Maybe I am but I still don't want you to tell him about Michael without me."

I don't have the strength or desire to argue with him. "Fine. I don't care. None of this is going to matter anyway if I don't find Michael. My father has called in a bunch of favors and he has people looking for him all over the city since I can't very well call the police. So far, he hasn't turned up."

"Why haven't you called the police?" Rafael wonders, "I'm sure Michael's old buddies on the force would be pretty motivated to find him."

"He's supposed to be dead, remember? Plus, I don't think it's a good idea to send people after him who are too emotionally invested. That will just rattle him even more."

"That makes sense."

"I don't even know where to look for him because I doubt he will go to any of our old spots because he can't remember where they are!." I crumple into the nearest chair and briefly bury my face in my hands. "But that's just the best case scenario in this whole mess." Fear is crackling in every fiber of my body when I ask aloud the thing that terrifies me the most, "What if something bad happened to him, Raf?"

He immediately rushes forward and scoops me into his arms, crooning sweet words of reassurance into my disheveled hair. I clutch at him like he's a life raft and I'm drowning at sea. "Nothing bad has happened to him. You can't think like that."

"I can't lose him again," I sob hysterically, "I just can't…"

"You won't. I can go out there and look for him too if you want."

I regard him with wet eyes shining with relieved gratitude. "Thank you. Thank you."

"And he definitely hasn't called or texted you at all? Did you check your phone recently?"

I nod. The last time I checked had been a mere two minutes before Rafael arrived. "No. Not a word." I curl my fingers tighter into his shirtfront in a moment of pure desperation. "What about you? Do you have his contact information at all? A phone number, an address, anything! What about the hotel where he was staying? Do you know that?"

He makes a calming gesture in order to quell my rapid flow of words. "I went by the place he was staying when I first brought him into town last night but the front desk told me he'd already checked out."

I jerk out of his loose embrace with a sharp gasp. "You mean you've known where he was staying this entire time and you didn't tell me?"

"Well maybe if you had bothered answering my calls, I would have told you," he retorts.

I survey him with narrowed eyes filled with suspicion. "Why did you go by to see him in the first place?"

"I actually don't know," he admits in an exasperated sigh, "I guess I just wanted to hear from him that he wanted to stay here."

"Why would you care? It's doesn't affect you."

"It affects you so it affects me," he counters tautly, "I wanted to be sure you weren't setting yourself up for disappointment. Maybe I wanted some reassurance that I didn't have anything to worry about, that I wasn't going to lose the woman I love."

"Raf, please…"

"Fine. But I don't want this to be another tick in the column of betrayal for you, Jane."

"It doesn't matter. That's not important right now!" I'm already surging to my feet, preparing to tear the living room apart for my car keys. "You have to take me there!"

"Jane, didn't you hear what I just said? He's not there anymore. He left."

I freeze mid-step at the gentle reminder and swing back to face him, a weight of hopelessness settling into my belly. "But…but he said he wouldn't leave…" I sniffle mournfully, "He promised…"

"He probably went back to Houston," Rafael surmises, "Maybe he felt like there was nothing left for him here. It makes sense. That's where his life is now."

That _does_ seem like the likeliest possibility and it guts me. It seriously guts me. I can barely withstand the crushing pain that comes with it. I stumble back against the couch, sinking down into the cushions as despair overwhelms me. This can't be it. This can't be all the time I get to have with him, not after all we've been through, not after all we've lost. I can't accept that this is all I have left. _I won't_.

When I look at Rafael again, my expression is set with determination. "Where exactly in Houston did you find him?"

"Why?" he prompts warily.

"Because…if the mountain won't come to Mohammad, I guess Mohammad must go to the mountain."

As soon as he realizes that I am prepared to fly to Houston if necessary to find Michael, Rafael's reaction is swift and direct. "No, Jane, you can't! What you're thinking is utterly insane! You can't just show up at his house unannounced."

"Why not?"

"Because he lives with someone!" Rafael flares, as if the answer should be obvious to me, "He's in a relationship and if he wanted to stay here, he would have! You can't go chasing him all over the country!"

"Give me the address, Raf."

"No."

I take several calming breaths and try again. "Give me the address _please_."

"I said no."

I curl my hands into fists, fully prepared to fight him if it comes to that. "So help me God, Rafael, if you don't give me that address, I will never speak to you again!"

Though I can tell he is frustrated, angry and more than hurt by my threat (empty as it was) Rafael is still willing to relent to my demand. He reaches for his wallet and snatches out a folded piece of paper. He passes it to me with a stony scowl. "That's all the information I have."

I glance down at the paper. There isn't much there, just an address and a name. Lorena Diaz. The woman Michael, apparently, lives with. I don't let myself focus on that too much but instead make a dive for my laptop so I can begin searching for the Lorena Diaz who lives at the address I've been provided. I'm vaguely aware of Rafael standing behind me as I search the web for what I need but I don't acknowledge him. I'm too focused on my task.

After only a few minutes of searching I stumble across her Facebook page. Her settings are set to private so I can't navigate through her page as freely as I'd like but honestly I don't need to. Her profile picture tells me what I need to know.

I'm not surprised she's brunette, petite and pretty with dark eyes and a dazzling smile. She and Michael are huddled close, grinning at one another like they have some private joke between them. He has that familiar, playfully crooked smirk on his face, the one he always gets when he's about to do or has done something silly. She looks like she's trying not to laugh and failing miserably. She looks…happy. So does he.

And it hurts. God, it hurts. I vaguely wonder if this was how Michael felt when he had to watch Rafael and I together all those years ago. I have to shut my laptop for a minute to collect myself.

From above my head I hear Rafael say past the roaring in my ears, "I tried to tell you." He rests his hands on my shoulders. "I didn't want you to be hurt."

"I know," I acknowledge with a rough swallow, "I know you didn't." But then I square my shoulders and lift the cover to my laptop once more. "But I _have_ to do this." Ten more minutes of searching and one credit card charge later yields what I have been searching for the entire time. A phone number. As soon as I find it I snatch up my cell phone and dial it quickly before I lose my nerve. Still, the second she answers I have to check the reflexive urge to hang up.

"Hello, hi," I blurt in a nervous, breathless rush, "I'm looking for Michael Cordero. Is he there? May I speak to him, please?"

I hold my breath in anticipation of Michael coming to the phone. I am mentally rehearsing what I plan to say to him in the few seconds I have before he does but the moment never comes because Lorena Diaz suddenly asks, "Is…is this Jane?"

It takes several attempts before I'm able to respond coherently, "I'm sorry…h-how do you know me?"

"John…I mean _Michael_ told me all about you. My name is Lorena. He…uh…he and I are very, very close. You have no idea how happy I am that he found you."

"You…you are?" I utter, caught somewhere between astonishment and relief.

"Why are you calling for him right now? Isn't he with you?"

"Actually, I haven't spoken to him since the other night and I was worried. I thought maybe he'd gone back to Houston. I wanted to make sure he was okay."

"No, he's still in Miami," Lorena tells me.

I grip my phone so hard I'm surprised it doesn't snap in two. "Are you sure?"

"I spoke to him this morning. He's still there."

 _Oh, thank you, God!_ "Would you happen to know where I could find him?" I press hopefully.

"He said he was going to check out the local beach. You may want to start there."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five (Michael POV)**

I don't have time to do an about face and duck back into the crowd because Jane Villanueva has zeroed in on me like a hawk on fleeing prey. There is no way I'm making an escape and there's no point in trying to hide either. She's already seen me and is quickly closing the distance between us. The confrontation is happening whether I'm prepared for it or not. And I'm not, if that means anything to anyone.

But God apparently isn't in a listening mood today because, by the time I'm finished stuffing my change back into my pocket, she's already reached me. I stand there, probably looking like a deer caught in the headlights, one hand still shoved into my pocket and the other holding a wax paper wrapped sandwich. There's no way the moment can't be awkward and the fact that neither of us says a word for several seconds only makes it worse.

Finally, I stammer, "Uh, h-hi there."

I know the greeting is lame but I'm at a loss as to what else to say. She's doing that thing she does, that thing with her eyes, like she's looking at me and looking right _into_ me at the same time. And if she can read my mind then she knows the power she has over me. She knows just how much she scares the hell out of me, this small, bossy Latina whose tossed my entire world upside down in less than three days. I suppose the reason Jane Villanueva terrifies me so is because she shakes up the carefully ordered control that I've come to pride myself on maintaining. Because, for some inexplicable reason, all of the power in our dynamic inevitably shifts to her whenever we're together. I actually have fight the impulse to squirm.

"Hey," she replies. She nods towards the Cubano food truck just beyond us. "Getting some lunch, huh?"

I'm thankful to use the brightly colored food truck as a distraction. "Yeah, I thought I'd give it a try."

She smiles at me then, the first time she's smiled since we met. It's a strange, knowing smile and I can't help but smile back at her even though I have no idea what we're smiling about. Maybe it's because I can't believe how the simple act of smiling transforms her entire face.

The last time I saw her she had been tearful and miserable and that had mostly been my fault. This afternoon, however, she is dappled in the bright, afternoon sun that pours through the prawns of the leaning palm trees above us, the glow of her smooth, brown skin on full display. Dressed in simple white shorts, a faded t-shirt and sandals she looks much more comfortable and in her element than she had the last time we were together. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face in haphazard ponytail which only serves to complement her fresh-faced appearance.

Yeah, I can admit it. Jane Villanueva is a beautiful women. But it's purely an objective recognition and certainly doesn't have the underlying meaning that Lorena thinks it does.

"So…" she drawls, apparently unwilling to end this painful exchange just yet, "are you planning to eat your lunch on one of the benches on the boardwalk?"

"I was thinking about it. Seems like a nice day to sit outside."

"Good. I'll come with you."

And just like that, without any further discussion or invitation really, Jane Villanueva and I are strolling down the boardwalk together side by side like it's the most normal thing in the world. I am hyperaware of her presence the entire time. But, oddly enough, it doesn't feel as strange as I would expect it to feel. Quite the opposite, falling into step beside her is completely natural to me, as if I've done it a million times before. It's possible I have but the memory of those times continues to elude me. But I'm not too bummed by the realization. Memories or not, this is the first time since I arrived in Miami that anything has felt remotely familiar to me at all and so I'm happy to go with it.

"Flying solo today, huh?" I observe casually as we walk.

She contemplates her painted toenails rather than meeting my eyes. "Yep."

I study her profile, noting the fine tendrils of hair to float against her cheek in the ocean breeze. There's an undercurrent of sadness in the voice which prompts me to ask, "Is that because of me?"

"Yep."

I wince at her brutal candor. "Wow, you don't sugarcoat, do you?"

"I had the impression the other night that you're not such a fan of sugarcoating," she replies quietly, "I'm not blaming you. Husbands returning from the dead tend to put a crimp in marriage plans."

I swivel to face her with a look of surprise. "You're getting married?" There are a dozen different thoughts that go tumbling through my mind right then and most of them involve Lorena. I wonder if she will feel differently about pushing me toward my long lost wife if she knew said long lost wife was getting married. I wonder if she will finally change her mind about us being together.

Jane blows out a despondent sigh. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Her response leaves me feeling deflated. That answers that question. _Nope._ As long as there's any ambiguity concerning me and my long lost wife, I seriously doubt Lorena will change her mind about a romance between us. My unhappiness over that must be easily readable on my face because Jane asks, "Does that disappoint you?"

"You're not the only one with someone in your life, Jane," I tell her, "My problem is, she doesn't want to move forward with me until I put my past to rest first."

"And is that why you agreed to come here?" she asks rather glumly, "Because you want to put your past to rest for her?"

"I can't really give her a future if I don't know where I come from."

She glances away quickly when I say that but not before I see the hurt flash across her face. I am immediately filled with a mixture of guilt, confusion and mild irritation to see it. Guilt because I know I've hurt her feelings again even though that's the last thing I want. Confusion because she has someone else and I want someone else and we have no relationship whatsoever but yet somehow it all feels weirdly wrong. And finally I'm irritated that there is some part of me that _does_ feel like I'm doing something wrong. It makes me eager to end the conversation with her because I don't want to deal with the conflicting emotions she stirs up inside of me.

"So listen, I was thinking…with you moving on with your life and me moving on with my life, maybe we should leave well enough alone."

She stops and suddenly rounds on me with panicked disbelief. I have no choice but to stop too. "What are you saying right now? That you don't want your memories back after all?"

"It seems like it might complicate things even more," I reason lamely.

"So what?" she challenges, "I refuse to believe that you want your life to be summed up by the last six months! You'll never convince me of that, Michael!"

She's right, though I will die before I admit that to her. The truth is, the longer I'm here in Miami, the more I want to know about the man I once was. But the caveat is, the more I learn about him, the more I learn about her and that scares me because I can sense that when that happens everything I know, everything that has been a constant for me these last six months, will change. I tell her so.

"I understand being scared. I'm scared too. And you're right. It will change things. It's already has between me and Raf but this is something you know you have to do, right?"

I jerk a nod. "I know."

"If it makes you feel better, you're not alone," she reassures me softly, "I'm here for you. I'm happy just to be your friend. No expectations whatsoever."

I level her with a crooked smirk of disbelief. "Really?"

"Well, no expectations beyond reason," she amends with a glimmer of a smile, "Let me be your friend, Michael."

There's something about the playful wheedling in her expression that I'm unable to resist. "I guess that's not too unreasonable."

"Admit it," she prompts as we fall back into our stroll down the boardwalk, "You like me. Just a little bit."

"Maybe a little bit," I admit with a defeated sigh, "How did you even find me today? You must have the senses of a bloodhound."

"How do you know we didn't just meet by chance? Maybe I came out here to take a stroll on the beach. Not everything is about you, Michael Cordero."

I give her a wry side-eye. "Is that what happened?"

She ducks her head with a small smile and replies, "No. I spoke to your friend Lorena and she told me you'd be here."

"You spoke to Lorie? How?" She shares her method with a measure of shame but truthfully I'm pretty impressed by her resourcefulness. I'm also proud that I'm able to maintain my cool as she recounts to me exactly how it all went down. "So that's how you found me today. I should have known Lorena would sing like a canary."

"She just provided the clue. Believe me, the execution was not as easy as it sounds. I spent an hour looking for you before I actually found you."

"Why would you go through so much trouble?"

"It's you, Michael. I don't think you're trouble." She slants a playful glower in my direction. "Not that you deserve my attention in the least. You don't call. You don't write. What's a girl to do?"

Although she is teasing me I can detect a note of censure in her tone as well. She's hurt that I didn't call. She doesn't say so but I can tell. And she has a valid reason to be upset. I told her I would be in touch and then I didn't call. I don't even know why that is because that's not like me. I mean what I say and I do what I say. But there is something about this girl that unnerves me, that leaves me vulnerable in a way that makes me uncomfortable. There's that and the realization that I feel guilty knowing I've disappointed her…this woman I've known less than a week. I don't know why I care but I _do_ care.

"You're right. We made an agreement and I haven't lived up to my end," I acknowledge with earnest sincerity, "I should have called you and I didn't _but_ , in my defense, this whole situation kind of freaks me out."

"Yeah, me too. I don't get a lot of people in my life rising from the dead."

"I bet it would get annoying if you did," I wisecrack, "Especially when you think of all the money you could have saved on coffins."

I'm taken by surprise when she suddenly stops in her tracks for the second time which prompts me to stop walking as well. At first, I think maybe she's dropped something but when I glance up I discover her staring at me with a stricken expression, her eyes wide and luminous and suddenly glistening with tears. I mentally kick myself for, once again, putting my foot in my mouth.

"Did I offend you just now?" I ask, at a loss to discern her inexplicable expression, "Please ignore me. It's like I have Tourette's. My friends always tell me I have a 'unique' sense of humor but Lorie says it's code for 'jackass.' Takes some getting used to."

"Yeah, I know…"

"I'll be on my best behavior from now on."

"No. It's okay."

But she doesn't look like it's okay. She looks like she wants to burst into tears and that alarms me. I don't know whether I should ask her what's bothering her or excuse myself so she can have a moment to regain her composure. In the end, she takes the decision out of my hands and resumes walking down the boardwalk. I fall into step beside her. I have to squelch the urge question her about the sudden shift in her mood because I know something is wrong but I don't feel like it's my place to pry. I figure if she wants to talk about it then she will and so I try to leave it at that.

I preparing to continue the remainder of our walk in relative silence when she asks, "Why did you disappear after the other night? Was it because of me? Did I put too much pressure on you?"

"Not you exactly. It was a lot to take in all at once. I just…needed some space."

"I get that." Her body language tells a different story. She's biting her lip right now to mask its trembling. Her shoulders are tense and she is wringing her hands. I also don't miss the fact that she can't meet my eyes. When she speaks again I get a clearer picture of the reason why.

"I don't want to pressure you, Michael," she reassures me in a rather disarming way, "That's the last thing I want to do but can you please not disappear on me like that again because my mind goes to terrible places and I-,"

My steps falter as the inadvertent pain I've caused to her dawns on me. She doesn't need to explain any further. I never imagined that she would think the worst when she didn't hear from me. I keep forgetting that, while I don't have any memory of her, she has plenty of memories about me. She's invested…connected to me in a fundamental way and if I disappear into the ether she's not going to forget about me. She's going to hurt. In a way, Jane Villanueva is the first real tie that I've made here in Miami and I don't want to break it.

"Oh my God, Jane, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I didn't even think about that."

"No. No. Don't apologize anymore," she admonishes me with a teary laugh, "Just do better next time."

I'm so relieved that she's willing to put it behind her that I smile and offer her a snappy salute. "I will. But I really _am_ sorry. Sometimes, I'm a real dick." Although she smiles in response to that, she also starts to sniffle, her tears flowing freely. I helplessly offer her one of the napkins that came with my sandwich so she can wipe her face.

"What is it? What did I say this time?"

She blows her nose noisily. "It's nothing…nothing," she denies thickly, "It's just _you_. I've really missed you, Michael."

"Really? I can't tell because every time we're together you start to cry. You're going to give me a complex if you keep breaking down like this." She giggles at that and, for some unexplainable reason, the sound makes me smile. Thankfully, that seems to be the end of her crying jag. After her tears are dried and she returns from throwing her soiled napkin in a nearby trash receptacle I ask, "Better now?"

"Much better."

"Listen, maybe you and I should start over. From the beginning. Clean slate."

She squints at me in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you said you wanted to be my friend and I'd like that too but… Every time we talk it feels like there's this baggage between us," I tell her, "and we're dragging it everywhere we go and that kind of sucks. So why don't we put down the cargo for a minute and try to get to know each other, no strings attached?"

"When you say 'we' you really mean _me_ , don't you?"

"Yes."

"Fine," she chuckles in agreement, "We'll start over." I'm surprised when she suddenly extends a handshake to me. "I'm Jane Villanueva. Nice to meet you."

I'm laughing as I shake her hand. "And I'm Michael Cordero, formerly John Ditch."

"Really? That was your name?"

"It's way more original than 'John Doe,'" I preen, "I came up with it myself, you know because I was found in a ditch. Get it?"

She rolls her eyes at me, thoroughly unimpressed. "Uh no. That's just morbid. I definitely like Michael Cordero better."

There it is again, that easy familiarity that makes me feel like I'm finally home. It's like the world has fallen away from around us as we stand there together, our hands still clasped while grinning stupidly at one another. But when I become aware of just how long I've had her hand loosely clasped in mine, I'm quick to drop it. Her smile falters when I do and a little part of me regrets the loss.

After we begin walking yet again, I say, "I know I might have given you the impression the other night that I don't like you but I want to reassure you that's not how I feel."

"I didn't get that impression," she replies, "I think you're scared, Michael, and that's understandable given the circumstances. I also think the other night was weird with Rafael there."

"A little bit. It's hard to be in the middle of a discussion about yourself when you have no point of reference for anything that's being said."

"This is better though…just me and you like this? Right?"

"Yeah," I whisper, my smile forming yet again, "This is better."

"Even though you wanted to hide from me earlier."

I duck my head in chagrin. "You picked up on that, did you?"

"The desperate way your eyes were searching for an exit as I was approaching kinda gave it away," she laughs only to sober a split second later when she adds, "You don't have to be afraid of me, Michael, or go out of your way to avoid me. If I'm crowding you, just tell me straight out and I'll back off."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"I mean it," she insists, "I want you to tell me."

"Okay. I will."

We walk a little while longer in companionable silence until we find an unoccupied bench. After we're situated, I politely offer her half of my sandwich and she politely accepts. We toast the two halves together and begin to munch quietly while the ocean waves crash and break behind us, filling the air with a cool, salty mist.

"So, how are you enjoying the sandwich?" she asks when I only have a few bites left.

"I love it. This might be my new food obsession."

A strange expression settles on her face as she regards me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. In Texas it's about the barbecue. But here? I'm going to have to have one of these daily."

She picks at the remains of her half while I polish off the rest of mine. "I know how you feel. I couldn't get enough of Cubanos when I was pregnant with Mateo," she confesses, "I could eat them morning, noon and night."

"So…about your son," I begin in a neutral tone, "Did that happen before or after we were together?"

"After."

I grimace at the revelation. "So what? You cheated on me?"

"No!" she flares with such vehemence that I choke out a stunned laugh, "Never. I have never cheated on you!"

"Did…did I cheat on you?"

"No. You didn't cheat on me either. That's not the kind of relationship we had."

"What kind of relationship did we have?" I ask her softly.

"You were my first real love, Michael. My first lover, my husband, my very best friend."

"But Mateo _is_ Rafael's son? Am I right about that?"

I see the surprise on her face before her dark gaze skitters aside at the question. "Yes, you're right." And then she looks at me with an expression full of entreaty, as if she's begging my forgiveness and understanding. "It's a really long and complicated story."

"Well, I don't have anywhere to be."

Despite my reassurance, she still looks reluctant to share. "I don't want to scare you off," she says, "I thought you didn't want to deal with any baggage."

"It's a part of my past and you said I had to deal with it so… I need to know. Right?"

"Right."

"So then tell me this 'really long and complicated story.'"

Her mouth turns in a faint smile. "Just remember you asked."

Forty minutes later my head is pounding with all of the information. I'm having a hard time getting a grasp on it all. Accidental, artificial insemination. Virgins being pregnant. Destiny. Engagements and break-ups. Kidnappings. A criminal mastermind who can change her face. Reconciliations, marriage, talk of babies and untimely death. Funerals, sadness and faith and finally…finding joy again. By the time she's done speaking, I have a much deeper understanding of Jane Villanueva and what defines her. I also know and understand how unique her relationship with Rafael Solano is as well. It's comparable to the relationship I have with Lorena.

"So you're telling me you saw me in the casket," I press in disbelief, " and you buried me…that there was a funeral and pallbearers and everything?" Jane confirms with a small nod. "That's crazy! So does that mean I'm not me?"

"Don't worry. You're definitely you," she reassures me, smiling.

"How can you be so sure? You just told me you _buried me_. Maybe that me is me and I just think I'm me but I'm not me."

She blinks at me rapidly as she tries to follow my convoluted logic. "Michael, that wasn't you in the casket. I suspect it was just someone made to look like you," she tells me, "And, according to Rafael, there's no doubt."

"What about according to you? Do you believe I'm me?"

There's that look again, that wistful expression that has shadowed her face more than once this afternoon. She reaches over to touch my scruffy cheek and the moment she does I can feel my breath catch in my throat. I experience a flash of recollection, a moment where I can clearly see her face and feel the love and affection in her touch and then, just as Jane lets her hand drop back to her lap, it's gone so quickly I'm not even sure if I had an actual memory. And, no matter how hard I try, I can't get it back.

I almost don't hear her when she says, "I don't have a single doubt that you're you, Michael."

For a second, I debate with myself about telling her what just happened. On the one hand, I have to believe what just happened had to be a memory and it is the closest I've come to having one in six months. On the other hand, however, it was so fleeting, so vague I would be unable to offer her any real detail on what I saw. The most enduring impression I have is the love that had been shining in her eyes. It finally helps me to understand the puzzling look she often gets when she's with me. It is the same expression she had in that flash. I realize it's the way Jane has _always_ looked at me…because she loves me.

Reeling a little, I lean back into the bench and expel a heavy sigh. "Oh…wow…"

"Are you okay?" she frets, probably alarmed by my appearance because I'm sure that every drop of color has drained from my face, "You look like you're going to pass out."

I make the impulsive decision not to tell her what just happened, mostly because I'm too overwhelmed to deal with it right then. "I'm fine," I reply, forcing a smile, "This is just a lot to take in all at once."

"I told you it was complicated. Was it too much?"

"No. I'm just…I'm still processing."

"Are you going to run?" she asks timidly, as if she's afraid to hear my answer.

"No, I'm not going to run," I reassure with short laugh, "I guess I want to know where do you and I go from here?"

"Where do you want to go?" she asks me.

"I don't know. I wish I could remember you…and us."

"Me too. We just have to give it time, I guess."

"Yeah…"

"In the meantime, maybe it would help you if you spent some time with your family."

I groan aloud at the suggestion, still shaky from what just happened and not too eager to pile more on. "My family? What family are you talking about?"

"Your parents specifically. I told your mother and father that you're alive," she reveals reluctantly. I groan again, longer and louder this time as Jane scrambles to justify her actions. "They want to see you, Michael! I couldn't let them suffer any longer thinking you were dead!"

"Oh God why…"

"Don't panic. It will be okay."

"Will it? Will it be okay, Jane, because it doesn't _feel_ like it will be okay! I know they're going to want their son back and that's not me. It's too much pressure."

"Michael, you can do this. Look at us. Look how far we've come just today."

"That's different."

"How?"

"When I'm with you, I don't feel like you're expecting me to be your husband," I explain to her, "You're trying to know _me_ …the me I am right now. It won't be like that for them. They're going to see their son and they're going to want their son and they're going to get me instead. It's like we're setting them up for disappointment and that's not a great feeling, Jane."

"You're not so different from before, Michael." I roll my eyes in disbelief which only makes her more determined to convince me. "I mean it. You're still the same kind, funny, intuitive man you were before this whole thing happened to you."

"Really?"

She nods. "But you're right. It will hurt them to be so close to you and not have that connection with you," she says, "I know how that feels but I think it would be worse if I didn't get the chance to see you at all. This time that I'm having with you right now…it means the world to me, Michael. I know it will mean the world to them too."

I throw back my head with a long-suffering grunt before regarding her with a defeated sigh. "Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"A pushy know-it-all."

"Am I being too pushy right now?" she wonders timidly.

I think about making her squirm just a little but decide to let her off the hook instead. "No," I reply, "You're being just pushy enough and I guess I need that." But even though I know she's right, the prospect of meeting my parents and spending time with them fills me with apprehension. "I don't know if I can handle meeting them on my own," I mumble, more to myself than to Jane, "It's going to be so uncomfortable." Jane responds to my musing like I spoke directly to her nonetheless.

"I could go with you."

The look I give her right then is one of pure gratitude and relief. "Would you?"

"Of course I will. Although, I don't know how comforting it is to have a stranger with you while you're visiting other strangers."

"You're not a stranger. You're my friend. Remember?"

"You really mean that? You want to be friends with me, Michael?"

"Yeah," I reply as an inexplicable lump of emotion suddenly forms in my throat, "I really do."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six (Jane POV)**

"You're going to what?" Mom and Abuela cry in simultaneous incredulity, although technically Abuela exclaimed her disbelief in Spanish.

So I'm not completely surprised that my family has major reservations about my decision to go on a road trip to Fort Myers with Michael to see his parents. Even as I explained to them my reasoning I could see that I was gradually losing them the more I talked. While they had been worried about Michael when he had been MIA, they became even more worried about me after I ran out of the house to track him down and then didn't return home for six hours. He has been back less than a week and my resulting erratic behavior is barely recognizable to them. On its face, I can understand why my behavior might seem irrational and impulsive to them. Dropping the bomb that I planned to leave with Michael when he meets his parents tomorrow morning is just the cherry on top of all the crazy.

Presently, my grandmother, mother and father are seated together on the couch across from me trying to process everything I've told them without completely freaking out (though, in all honesty, my dad takes the news better than anyone). They are regarding me with expressions varying from elation, concern and sympathy to outright shock. I don't need them to tell me they that think I'm making a mistake, specifically Mom and Abuela, because their facial expressions are evidence enough. Given the circumstances though, I get why they think it might be a bad idea.

My relationship with Rafael is currently suspended in a precarious state of limbo. I've been neglecting work. I've been neglecting school. But more importantly, I've been neglecting my family, most especially Mateo. I've been so preoccupied with the fact that Michael is back that I've spent very little time with my son over the past three days.

I try to lessen my guilt with the knowledge that he's strengthening his bond with his father and that's a good thing but it doesn't help much. I feel like a terrible mother. I don't want to be. I want Mateo to be my focus as he always has been but the indisputable truth right now is that Michael needs me and he has no one else. Then again, I know that Mateo needs me too and therein lies the crux of my dilemma. I'm having a tremendously difficult time trying to strike a balance between being Mateo's mother and being the friend that Michael needs. I confide to my mother, father and grandmother the difficulty that I'm having.

"Exactamente!" Abuela exclaims as if she just had a Eureka moment, "Es por eso que creo que debes poner distancia entre tu y Michael. Es muy confuso."

I gape at the suggestion. "Really? Abuela, you want me to keep my distance from Michael? How can you say that? You know what he's going through. We're the closest thing he has to family right now!"

"Lo sé y simpatizo con lo que está pasando, pero estoy preocupado por ti."

"Don't worry about me, Abuela. I'm not the one with amnesia."

"But you _are_ the one with a strong attachment to him and it's growing by the second," my mother chimes in gently, "You know I don't always agree with your _abuela_ but she's right. Jane, you're treading on dangerous ground here."

"Why is it dangerous to want to help a friend?" I argue, "I'm not going to leave him to face his parents, who are complete strangers to him at this point, alone!"

Mom levels me with a knowing look. "Michael is more than a friend to you, Jane, and you know it. He was your first, real love, _your husband_. Are you really going to sit there and tell me you don't have feelings for him anymore?"

I deliberately ignore the charge because that's something I'm not ready to deal with at the moment. Instead, I throw a desperate glance over at Rogelio who, up until this point, has not offered his insight at all. "What do you think, Dad? Do you think I should distance myself from Michael?"

"I don't think I'm the person you should ask this question, Jane," Rogelio explains in his usual, deliberate way, "As you know, I am very biased when it comes to Michael and I have wanted you to bring him home since the moment I learned he was alive. After all, he is my very best friend. If it were me, I would follow my heart." My mother groans his name in reprimand but Dad merely shrugs. "She asked and I answered. I've never made a secret of the fact that I am Team Michael. Hashtag Forever."

Mom elbows him in the side for that declaration which provokes Dad's offended yelp. "Stop that, Rogelio! There are no teams here. Michael is family. Rafael is family. We just have to figure out what comes next."

"I think she should follow her heart," Dad reiterates to her stubbornly before turning to address me, "Follow your heart, Jane."

"Well, right now, my heart is with Michael. He needs me so I'm going with him tomorrow whether you guys support me or not."

"¿Qué hay de lo que necesitas?" Abuela asks.

The question unnerves me. What did I need? Everything has been such a mess lately and has been moving and changing so quickly that I haven't had a moment to regain my bearings. Instead, it feels like I have been careening from one crisis to the another for the last 72 hours straight. The single moment of respite I've enjoyed in three days was walking with Michael today on the boardwalk.

"I don't know, Abuela. I'm still trying to figure that out."

My mother reaches over to grab my hand and give my fingers a brief, reassuring squeeze. "Please don't take this to mean that we aren't concerned about what happens to Michael," she tells me, "I've been beside myself ever since you told us he was alive. But, I'd be lying if I didn't say I was a little concerned about his…mental state. Rafael said that Michael could be potentially dangerous because of what Rose might have done to him. I'm worried, Jane."

I clamp down the urge to growl several scathing curses under my breath. Please, not this ridiculous argument again! Rafael has been telling anyone who will listen about the potential threat Michael "may" pose to our family and it's all bogus to me. I know it's only his jealousy talking but it's difficult to be dismissive of his actions when my family takes every word he says at face value.

"Ma, you need to stop listening to Rafael! He feels threatened by Michael and he'll latch onto any excuse to get him out of our lives!" I cry in exasperation, "Listen to me. I've talked to Michael, spent time with him. He isn't dangerous. The truth is, he is the same man he's always been."

"Jane, be reasonable," Mom maintains, "You don't know what he's been through."

"Well, that's the irony. Neither does he. Right now he's a blank slate and he's taking life as it comes. I'm trying to do the same." I stare down at my hands, my internal conflict likely written all over my face right then. "I can't turn my back on him, Ma. I've missed him so much. I need him in my life. I _need_ to be in his."

"We all know and understand what you're feeling, Jane," Mom replies in a gruff, sympathizing tone, "I meant what I said before. Michael is family. There's a very big part of me that wants to bring him home to us right now and damn the consequences but it's not that simple, is it? There are other factors to consider."

"Mateo," I surmise softly.

"And Rafael," Mom reminds me with equal softness, "Three days ago you were talking about marrying him! You're going to have to deal with him sometime, Jane."

It's a refrain I've heard several times in several variations over the past 48 hours while I scrambled and cried and wrung my hands because I didn't know where the hell Michael was. _What about Rafael? What about Rafael? What about freaking Rafael?_ From Abuela, from Mom, from Petra, hell even from _Lina_ and each time I hear it I want to scream, "What about him?"

Did he have five years of his life stolen from him? Did he possibly spend four of those five years being held prisoner and tortured? Did he lose his memory and spend the last six months rooting around in the dark trying to figure out who he was?

Rafael is fine. Yes, I know that he's feeling insecure right now with Michael's return and yes, I know it doesn't help that I've been practically ignoring him for days but it's just his ego on the line right now. He wants me to hold his hand and stroke his hair and reassure him that he's still the most important person in the world to me second only to Mateo. But I have bigger priorities than to salve Rafael's wounded pride. And I tell my mother exactly that.

"Okay. Okay. You don't have to get so snippy."

"It's just…if one more person asks me about Rafael I might completely lose it."

Abuela chooses that moment to throw in her own two cents. "¿Por qué no preguntamos por él? Tú eres quien lo eligió."

I can't really launch a credible counter argument following that succinct reminder and so I fall into petulant silence instead. Mom then tries to diffuse the tension by changing the subject altogether. "So how is Michael doing right now? Has he started to remember anything?"

"No. He says it feels like he's living someone else's life."

"¿Ha visto a un doctor?" Abuela asks, "Tal vez hay algo físicamente mal y es por eso que la pérdida de memoria persiste."

"That's a good question," I murmur as I turn over the possibility in my head, "I'll mention it to Michael next time I see him."

"Bueno. Si hay algo físicamente mal con él, entonces tal vez se puede arreglar."

"And if it's not physical, then what?"

Before Abuela can elaborate on the possible non-physical reasons for Michael's persistent amnesia, a knock sounds at the front door. "That should be Rafael with Mateo," I say, shifting to my feet, "We'll finish this conversation later." As my family rises to disperse into different parts of the house because they sense Rafael and I will need some privacy, I open the door for Rafael and Mateo. The instant I do, Mateo flies into my arms like he hasn't seen me in a century. I give him an exuberant squeeze and pepper his cheeks with loud, smacking kisses.

"Oh, I missed you too, Mr. Sweetface!" I exclaim as I swing him up into my arms, "Oooh, you're getting so big! Did you have fun with Daddy at the zoo?"

"We had lots of fun! We saw giraffes and lions and tigers and bears…"

"…Oh my…" His face is so bright with excitement that I can't help but be excited with him. It's also a welcome distraction from the knowledge that Rafael is standing somewhere behind me with a disapproving scowl on his face.

"…It was so great! We saw all the exhibits and Daddy bought me ice cream and I petted a goat!" I respond to that with so much gasping enthusiasm that he giggles and I don't know just how much I need that sound until it washes over me. "I wish you could have been there too." And with that one, mournful statement, I am backhanded back to reality.

My smile falters a little as I bend over to set him back down on his own feet. "I know, baby," I croon softly, "But remember what Mommy told you. I have friend and he's having _a lot_ of trouble and I'm trying to help him because that's what friends do for each other. Next time, I'll go."

Mateo plucks distractedly at the top button of my blouse. "Who's your friend and why is he in trouble?"

I am mentally formulating an appropriate response when Rafael says, "Hey, Mateo, why don't you go brush your teeth and put on your pajamas? I'll tuck you in once you're done." We both watch as Mateo scampers off for the bathroom with affectionate smiles but as soon as he's out of earshot, the pretense is dropped. I can practically feel the fight looming and Rafael doesn't disappoint.

"So now you're missing our son's milestones to hold Michael's hand," he observes bitterly, "Is that how it's going to be now?"

I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't become frozen in my skull. "What milestone, Raf? Mateo's been to the zoo three times already!"

"They had a new panda exhibit. You should have seen how psyched he was over it. You missed that with him."

 _Ah, Guilt, my old friend, I see you've come for an extended stay this time._ Any righteous indignation I might have been building towards fizzles out completely after that. Having accomplished his mission to make me feel like the worst mother in the world, Rafael awaits my response. I regard him in chastened remorse. "You're right. I'm sorry. Did you, at least, take pictures?"

"I took tons of pictures but it's not the same as being there, Jane."

In that moment, I can't help but lament Rafael's lack of understanding about this situation. My fantasy version of him, while hurt and uncertain about Michael's return, would gallantly choose to refrain from pressuring me while I find my emotional footing again. And that's what I need. I need him to back off just a little so I can figure out who Michael and I are to each other now and who we will be in the future.

But I suppose that expectation is naïve. I can't expect that Rafael is going to be magnanimous about any of this, not when he feels like the perfect family he's envisioned for our future is being threatened. I sympathize with his fear and I want to alleviate it even while I resent him for it at the same time. See? I told you I was really confused.

"So was it worth it?"

I jerk a glance at him, his question cutting abruptly through my sullen musings. "Was what worth it?"

"The time you spent with Michael at the beach," he clarifies flatly, "I'm assuming that's where you spent most of the day."

"I found him on the boardwalk. He was getting lunch."

"Oh, so not dying in a ditch after all, huh?" Rafael observes sarcastically, "So, I was right. He didn't want to be found."

I clamp down on the urge to go on a tirade about Michael not knowing what he needed because he's in such a vulnerable state but I know Rafael won't see the reason in that argument. He'll only assume that I'm trying to justify my actions. In the end, I respond with a simple, "No, he didn't."

"So are you willing to drop all of this now? Can we move on from this debacle and focus on our family?"

"Rafael-,"

"—We can still close on that house we found," he cajoles with a soft smile, "All you have to do is say the word and it's ours."

"Rafael, you know I can't do that," I whisper mournfully, "This isn't the right time. You know it isn't the right time."

But I can see from the stubborn jut of his jaw that he doesn't. For him, this Michael situation has been wrapped up neatly complete with a bow. If Michael can't remember and, as far as he knows, doesn't _want_ to remember then we can move forward without any hindrance. What he doesn't seem to acknowledge is that _I_ remember the past and, inevitably, it is affecting _my_ present and _my_ view of the future. How can it not when Michael is alive? I ask Rafael that very question.

After taking a moment to listen for the running water coming from the bathroom, a sure indication that Mateo is preoccupied with playing in the sink, Rafael stuffs his hands into his pockets and regards me with a remote expression. "Tell me, Jane, how do you see this whole situation playing out?" he asks in a measured tone, "What's your endgame?"

I blink at him. "My endgame?"

"Do you expect me to just stand on the sidelines again and wait for you to figure out, _one more time_ , who you want to be with? Me or Michael?" he demands bluntly, "Because that's not going to work for me."

"That's not what I'm doing and that's not what I want."

"Then what _do_ you want?"

"I want for none of this to be happening!" I cry, "I _hate_ that it's happening! I wanted to be engaged to you! I wanted to be living with you and Mateo in our new house! I wanted us to be a family! I wanted to help you build your hotel and leave a legacy for Mateo. That was the plan. That was my dream!"

He starts toward me, likely with the intent of pulling me in his arms but then he stops mid-step and I suspect that is the exact moment he realizes I have been speaking in the past tense. "You don't want those things anymore?" he asks thickly.

"I do. I _think_ I do. But now there's a caveat because….because of Michael."

"It's only a caveat if you still want to be with him, Jane. And do you? Do you want to be with him?" he demands fiercely, "Tell me now so we can get this the hell over with!"

There's that question again. _Do I want to be with Michael?_ The easiest answer is also the most frustrating. I don't know. At this very second, the answer is a firm no but I also realize that answer is fluid and subject to change. But presently, right this moment, I'm not even thinking of the possibility at all. For me, this is about someone I love, someone who has played a huge part in shaping the woman I've become, suffering a devastating loss and an uncertain future and I want to help him. Right now, that's all I have to give and that's all Michael is willing to accept. For that reason, I haven't allowed myself to think about anything beyond that.

"I don't want to be with Michael," I tell Rafael and, in that moment, it is the absolute truth.

"Do you want to be with me?" he follow ups painfully.

"I don't _NOT_ want to be with you."

"What does that mean?"

"Rafael, come on!" I exclaim, "Do you really want to move forward with living together and marriage when you know Michael is alive and that his memories could come back at any time?"

"But I thought you said…"

"This isn't about whether or not I want to be with him," I interrupt before he can finish, "This is about _your_ insecurity and how if you don't get a handle on this ridiculous jealousy you have, it's going to destroy us! You can't manage this situation like you manage a hotel!"

"Do you really blame me for being controlling?" he whispers, "My whole life is spinning out of control! You've thrown me over for the guy more than once, Jane. And this time, the stakes are so much higher because I never imagined I could love you as much as I do."

The sight of him breaking down is enough to disarm me emotionally and I close the distance between us with a teary sniffle to frame his face for my kiss. He drinks me in, kissing me deeply and fervently as if he expects he might never get the chance to do it again. "I love you so much, Raf," I whisper against his lips, "The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

"I know. I know you're confused and scared and I haven't been making this easier for you," he murmurs, nuzzling his nose to mine, "I'll get better. I promise. But Michael's return has thrown me too. I'm sure I'll be less tense after he returns to Houston."

That misinformed statement brings with it the harsh reminder that there are still a few things Rafael and I need to talk about . I almost groan aloud because I'm dreading having to tell him that Michael isn't leaving after all, especially when we just achieved some modicum of peace between us. Reluctantly, I shrug out of his arms to whisk away the remaining tears wetting my cheeks.

"Why don't you…uh…go get the kid before he floods the bathroom," I suggest, having some difficulty meeting his eyes, "We'll talk more when you're done."

He smirks at me flirtatiously. "Who knows? Maybe we can do a little bit _more_ than talking."

I offer him a wan smile in response but as soon as he's out of sight I drop the pretense. With an inward groan, I drop down onto the sofa while he wrangles with Mateo in the bathroom and anxiously play out in my mind how he'll react to the news that, not only is Michael staying in Miami but also that I'm taking an impromptu road trip with him tomorrow morning. It's going to be bad. I just know it is.

When I compose myself enough, I duck into the bedroom to join Rafael in Mateo's bedtime ritual. He is just starting to drift off to sleep when Mom, Dad and Abuela pop in to say their goodnights. Twenty minutes later, after Mateo has fallen asleep, my parents have gone home and my grandmother has bedded down for the night, Rafael and I tiptoe from the bedroom together and close the door behind us. The instant we're alone again, he reaches out and pulls me against him, his mouth turned up in a "come hither" smile.

"Now, where were we…" But before his hands can begin their wandering trek down my body, I wiggle out of his arms and put some needed distance between us. He takes one look at the pained expression on my face and knows instantly something has changed. "What is it?"

"I have to tell you something," I preface shakily, "but before I do, you have to promise you won't lose your temper. Promise me you'll keep an open mind."

"What's going on, Jane?" It doesn't escape my notice that he doesn't promise at all and that fact only heightens my apprehension.

"Michael's not going back to Houston after all," I blurt, cringing as I do, "He's going to stay here in Miami for six weeks like we originally agreed."

His expression is inscrutable but his eyes are alive with fire. "What did you say?"

"He's staying in Miami, Raf," I repeat softly.

"But I thought you said he didn't want to stay." I drop my eyes in guilty admission. "Oh, I see. You changed his mind."

"I didn't change his mind," but the denial sounds weak even to me, "I helped him to see the things more clearly."

"You mean you helped him to see things _your_ way."

"Rafael, Michael has a life here. He has family here. He can't just walk away from that."

"But he wanted to walk away from it and now he's not…because of you." He palms his forehead in a frustrated gesture. "Which brings me right back around to my original question, Jane? What's your endgame here? Why is it so important to you that he stay?"

"Because beyond the fact that we were married, Michael is _my friend_. He has always been _my friend_ and all I'm trying to do right now is help _my friend_."

"And that's it?" Rafael prompts and the desperate hope I hear in his voices devastates me, "That's all you want from him? Friendship?"

"Of course, it is!" I insist vehemently, ignoring the tiny, niggling voice inside of me that whispers "Really? That's all you want? Hah!" I stubbornly forge ahead. "I'm in love with someone else. He's in love with someone else. We're not the same people we were but…we had a connection once. I want to honor that." I take a fortifying breath to prepare myself for what comes next. "And that's the reason I've decided to go with him when he meets his parents tomorrow," I finish in a reluctant rush. I stand there with my eyes pinched tight, mentally bracing myself for Rafael's explosive reaction.

But it doesn't come. Surprised and little terrified, I unclench my eyes to find him staring at me with a hollow, bereft expression. I can see various emotions swirling in the murky depths of his eyes: fear, doubt, anxiety, anger, hurt…and finally, resolve. "Okay," he says after a deep breath, "Okay. You'll go with him tomorrow to meet his parents."

I gape at him, grateful for his come response but insensibly shocked as well. "That's it? That's all you're going to say? You're fine with it?"

"I'm hardly fine with it," he scoffs, "In fact, I _hate_ it but I can see this is something you need to do so, I'll try to be supportive and let you do it."

"Oh." It seems my fantasy Rafael isn't such a fantasy after all. He's actually a very good man and probably more than I deserve. I have to kiss him again in that moment because it's just impossible for me _not_ to kiss him. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"He scares me, Jane. But what scares me even more is losing you."

"You're not going to lose me, okay?" I reassure him, "I owe you an apology, Rafael…because I have been punishing you ever since I found out Michael was alive and that's not fair."

"No, it's not but I get it. I didn't tell you about him as soon as I knew and I should have. I wish I could go back and do it over. We should have handled it as a team and instead I shut you out."

"Yes, you did but I understand why you did."

"The point is, we've both made mistakes, Jane. I need to know that you forgive me, that this isn't going to come between us."

"It won't," I promise him, "I forgive you. Can you forgive me?"

He rains sweet kisses over my cheeks and nose and lips. "Of course I can. This is a unique situation, Jane, and right now we're trying to figure out how to get through it but we _will_ get through it and we're going to be a family. I know we will."

And he sounds so convinced, so sure, that when he pulls me into his arms and holds me tight, I can't help but believe it too.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven (Michael POV)**

It's been ten minutes since Jane cut the ignition and I can't bring myself to open the car door. The house looms to the left of us, a bright Suburban jewel complete with a pristinely manicured lawn and potted palm trees decorating the front porch and yet it feels like my worst nightmare. I barely slept at all last night. The apprehension over the impending introduction to my parents had made it impossible to rest. A late night phone call to Lorena couldn't calm me down. Jane listing all the reasons I shouldn't be nervous didn't calm me down either. It's difficult to relax or even feel a shred of optimism when every scenario I've conjured in head my regarding this first meeting has ended in tears, pain and disappointment.

In essence, I'm an emotional wreck. If it weren't for the fact we had already informed Michael and Patricia Cordero that we were on our way, I might have asked Jane to crank the car back up and get me the hell out of there. But it's too late to retreat now. So I sit here, frozen and terrified, while Jane watches me with curious expectation.

"Are…are you going to get out of the car?"

"I can't," I burst out, shaking my head wildly, "I thought I could but I realize I can't do it! This feels like it's too soon. I'm not ready."

Jane says my name in that tone I'm quickly becoming familiar with, that gentle, disarming tone that reminds me that I'm not alone in this. She will have my back the entire time. I feel myself begin to calm just a little bit. "They're your parents," she reasons, "What do you think is going to happen?"

"They're going to be happy to see me and welcome me with open arms," I hypothesize thickly, "They're going to cry and fawn and tell me how much they love me and how much they've missed me and I'm going to feel…absolutely nothing."

I watch her wince as she digests this latest insight into my inner thoughts and I imagine it's because she's thinking how what I just said might apply to her as well. She confirms my suspicion when she asks, "Is that how you feel when you're with me, Michael?"

"Sometimes I do," I admit with some reluctance because I don't want to hurt her, "You have all these special memories about us but, it feels like you're telling me a story about someone else. But, at the same time, I can't pretend that I don't feel drawn to you. I don't know what it is or why but it's easy to be friends with you. I don't have to think about it and I like that."

The corners of her mouth turn up in a shy smile. "So do I." She reaches over to pat my hand. "You'll have that with your parents too. Just be patient with yourself and be patient with them."

"Sure," I agree without much conviction, "But, in the meantime, can we please talk about something else? Distract me. I just need a minute to pull myself together."

"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything. I don't care. Tell me something about you."

She peers at me with a curious smile. "Something like what?"

"Like…what do you like to do? Any hobbies? Do you have any siblings or are you an only child? What's your favorite food? How do you feel about Karaoke? I don't care. You pick."

"Okay, well first of all, I like to write. I'm a writer."

"What do you write?"

"Romance mostly. I'm actually working on a novel right now…or I was."

"Why past tense?"

"I've got severe writer's block at the moment. Life has been a little distracting lately."

"You mean _I_ happened."

"Yes, you happened," she replies with a smile, "I'm not sorry about that, just in case you're wondering."

I feel a strange flutter unfurl in my belly with that admission but I'm quick to chalk it up to my lingering anxiety. "Good to know."

"Okay, so back to your questions," she says when the quiet stretches between us a little too long, "My favorite thing to eat is grilled cheese and don't you dare laugh," she warns when I make an "are you kidding me" face, "Grilled cheese can be a very sophisticated dish."

"If you say so," I laugh.

She growls at me. "Do you want me to answer the questions or not, Cordero?"

"Okay. I'm sorry," I reply, adopting the most studious expression I can muster, "Please continue."

"As I was saying, I like grilled cheese. I love Karaoke _and,_ until two years ago, I was an only child. Now I have a baby sister. She's almost a year old."

"Really? So what is that, like a twenty year age difference between you or something?"9

"Almost 30," Jane clarifies wryly, "Thanks for pointing that out and making me feel like an old lady."

My attempt at pouting contrition fails miserably and becomes laughter instead. "Sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Whatever," she scoffs, but it's clear that she's trying to keep from smiling, "The point is, I'm happy for my dad. He missed being in my life when I was growing up so I'm glad he has a do-over with my sister. He deserves that."

"Is there a reason he wasn't in your life?"

"He didn't find out he was my father until I was 23 years old," Jane tells me, but despite her light tone I sense the subject still causes her pain, "But that's another story for another day. Today, we're focusing on your parental woes."

"Oh no, no parental woes at all," I say, "You're supposed to be distracting me. Remember? Tell me more about your little sister."

"Well, there's not much to tell. She's hitting all of her milestones. She's stinking adorable and…" she concludes as she shifts around to regard me with a dazzling smile, "…my father actually named her after you. Baby Michaelina."

The news takes me by surprise and, at first, I'm not certain how I should react. I don't know what I feel or even if I feel anything at all. In the end, I am more curious about the choice than honored so I ask, "Why would he do that?"

"My father adored you, Michael. Still adores you. You two had a very strong friendship."

I wait for some memory of what she's telling me to resurface, some recollection of this great friendship I apparently shared with her father, of the closeness that would prompt a man to name his _child_ after me but I've got nothing. It's just as I told her before…she's telling me a story about someone else. "I wish I could remember that."

"I know you do," she murmurs.

I'm ill equipped to tackle the sorrow and disappointment that comes following this newest bit of information about myself so I do what I usually do when I'm uncomfortable or sad or stressed. I take refuge in humor. "Michaelina?" I utter aloud with a grimace, "He named her Michaelina? And her first name is _Baby_? That poor kid. She won't win either way. And what was wrong Michelle or Michaela? Were they not available? Michaelina isn't hideous but…Baby Michaelina going to be one hell of a legacy to carry."

Jane sits in stunned silence after that and, for a second, I'm afraid I've offended her and then she suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh my God!" she chortles, "I thought the same thing! Don't get me wrong. It was so sweet that he named her for you but…my God! I shudder to think what he would have named me if he'd had the chance!" We giggle together as we consider the various disasters she could have suffered.

"I'm 90% sure he would have named me Rogelia!" Jane chuckles.

"You don't look much like a Rogelia," I observe wryly, "Now _Rogelina_ on the other hand…"

She snorts her disagreement. "Nice try but you're not thinking big enough. My dad prides himself on creativity. He would have come up with something truly God awful like…Carmeliana Opralia Venturithah, because he obsessed with Ace Ventura Pet Detective for some reason, De la Vega. I would have been screwed."

"Wow. That one is truly terrible _but_ I think his love for Ace Ventura should be respected." She opens her mouth to make what I assume is going to be a laughing retort when my cell phone suddenly chimes a text notification. I glance down at my phone screen and read the quick message from Lorena. _U ok?_ Rather than texting her back, I decide to call instead after asking Jane to give me a quick minute to do so. Lorena picks up on the first ring. I can't help but smile when I hear her voice. "Hey."

"Hey. Are you there yet?"

"We arrived a few minutes ago," I tell her, "I can't bring myself to get out of the car though."

"I don't know why you're freaking out. They are going to love you."

"That's actually _why_ I'm freaking out. What if I don't love them back?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. You won't," and her succinct determination of the situation provokes my short, stunned laugh, "You're not going to love them, Michael, because you don't know them. But that will change with time."

"I guess…"

"Think about how you and I began," she reminds me, "You were so mistrustful of everyone and everything that it was hard to get close to you. It was like befriending a stray dog."

"Gee, thanks a lot for that comparison."

"The point I'm trying to make is, we didn't start off so great," she presses on, "but I think the journey has been pretty epic. It can be like that with your parents too. Don't give up before you even try."

I clutch the phone tighter to my ear, tears suddenly burning in my eyes. "I really wish you were here with me right now, Lorie. I miss you."

"I miss you too." Her words sound gargled in my ears and I suspect she's crying as well. "Call me when you get back to your room. We'll Facetime."

"Sounds like a plan. Talk to you soon."

It's only after I hang up that I realize that Jane has been following my entire conversation. She doesn't make it too obvious that she's been eavesdropping but there's something forced about the smile on her face. I decide to address it rather than let it fester between us. If Jane and I are going to have a true friendship then I want it to be one that is built on honesty.

"Did that make you uncomfortable just now?"

She immediately shakes her head but when she speaks she contradicts the gesture entirely. "No. Yes. I mean I don't know."

"Which is it?" I ask her slowly.

"I guess it's strange to listen to you use that tone, you know that gentle way you have of talking when you love someone or…you're _in_ love with someone. That used to be reserved for me alone and now it's not," she mumbles before plastering on an over-bright smile, "It makes me a little sad."

"But you're getting married."

"I'm not saying it makes sense," she acknowledges, "My feelings for you are complicated and it's hard to deal with so many changes coming so fast but I'm working on it and I'm truly happy for you. I'm glad you have someone, Michael. One of the hardest parts of this whole ordeal was thinking you've been alone this whole time."

"I haven't. I have friends and I have a support system so if the reason you asked me to stay is because you think I have no place to go or-,"

"—I asked you to stay because I _want_ you to stay." I'm still trying to find a response to that firm declaration as well as figure out how I feel about it when she surprises me yet again by asking, "So…how did you and Lorena meet?"

"She literally saved my life." When she looks puzzled, I clarify, "Lorena and her brother Marcel are the people who found me. She's a trauma nurse. She performed CPR until the paramedics arrived."

"Oh my God, Michael…"

"I owe her everything," I whisper, "because I wouldn't be here without her."

"No wonder you have such strong feelings for her. That's good. It's good you have that."

"You really mean that?"

She responds my question with a vague shrug but her glossy eyes bely her indifferent response. "It's been five years. A lot has changed and maybe it's impossible to go back," she considers, "We're not the same people we were but that's okay because I'm so glad to have you here right now, Michael. That's what matters to me the most. I just want us to be friends again."

I reach over to brush away the errant tear that has fallen on her cheek. "We're getting there, I think."

Jane favors me with a teary smile. "Yeah?"

I smile back at her. "Yeah." I start to say more but, just as I start, I hear at tap on the window. I lurch around in my seat, startled to find two worried, anxious faces peering back at me. "Who the hell are these loonies?"

"Michael, those are your parents," Jane hisses.

"Really?"

Armed with that information, I glance back at them and study their features more closely. It's easy to do because they are both looking at me with laser focus. Beyond the paleness of their skin (because I'm sure seeing their dead son alive is still a shock even if they _were_ expecting it), they appear to be a normal, basic, middle aged couple with lined faces and threads of gray hair. I can also see that there are some features of theirs that are reminiscent of my own. I have Patricia Cordero's blue eyes and Michael Cordero's nose and brow line. But, other than that, I could have passed them on the street and not missed single step. I don't register an ounce of recognition. And though I expected it, the realization is disheartening nonetheless.

Steeling myself for the oncoming assault of emotions, I roll down the window. "Hey."

"Hey," they reply in unison before Michael Cordero, takes control of the conversation after an unspoken agreement with his ex-wife. "We saw your car from the living room window," he explains, "You've been sitting here a while. When you didn't come out we started to get concerned."

"Yeah. I guess I'm a little nervous."

"Do you know who we are?" he asks me in a deliberate tone filled with hope.

"I know your name is Michael Cordero and that is your ex-wife Patricia but…I don't remember you."

Patricia Cordero stifles an anguished whimper with my admission but Michael Cordero accepts it with a stoic nod. He steps back from the car and nudges Patricia so that she follows his lead before making a beckoning gesture for me to exit the car. "Come on outta there, Mikey, and let us get a look at you."

Jane and I exchange a fretful glance before I take a deep, shuddering breath and finally climb from the car. I am vaguely aware of Jane exiting the vehicle as well. I don't turn to verify that fact, however, because I am too acutely aware of Michael and Patricia Cordero's proximity. The sight of me standing before them in broad daylight, alive, whole and healthy, causes Patricia Cordero to break down into noisy sobs. I feel very uncomfortable and I guess it shows because Michael Cordero starts nudging Patricia Cordero with his elbow.

"Pat," he admonishes her sharply from between clenched teeth, "We discussed this! Get a hold of yourself! You're scaring him!"

"I'm sorry," she sobs, "I'm so, so s-sorry…"

"Don't apologize. I'm the one who's sorry," I mumble, "I…I didn't mean to upset you."

"Y-You d-didn't upset m-me," she weeps hysterically, "I-I just th-thought I'd n-never s-see you again!"

Michael Cordero Sr. is much better at holding back his tears but it's obvious that he's on the verge breaking down himself. "Can we…?" He stops to clear his throat several times and collect himself before he begins again. "Do you think we could hug you, please?"

I saw the request coming but that still didn't make me any better prepared to receive it. Because I can't very well say no to them, especially when they are sobbing right in front of me, I jerk nod of consent even though it's the last thing I want right then. They converge on me in an emotional embrace, locking me in from either side and squeezing me tight. I crane an anxious glance over Patricia Cordero's head at Jane, silently begging for her assistance when it seems they have no intention of letting me go anytime soon. Jane, however, proves to be useless. She shrugs helplessly in response, giving me no choice but to endure it until it's over. When they step back at last, I try to temper my relieved sigh.

"You look really good," Mr. Cordero tells me, "You're too thin and you could use a haircut and a shave but really good."

As I'm rooting around in my head for an appropriate response to that, Mrs. Cordero says, "Why don't you and Jane come into the house? We can catch up more in there."

Upon stepping inside, I take in my surroundings with a dissecting eye, waiting, hoping for some flicker of recollection. But nothing comes. I see little more than the generic floorplan of a generic ranch style home adorned in varying shades of green and blue. It's pretty and well decorated but, to my everlasting disappointment, it doesn't feel like home.

"Does anything look familiar to you at all?" Mrs. Cordero asks from behind me.

"No. I'm sorry but, it doesn't," I reply sadly, "You have a lovely home though." Jane and I take our cue to sit down together and then Michael and Patricia Cordero immediately situate themselves on the sofa across from us. It's difficult not to squirm under their intense scrutiny. They stare at me as if they are memorizing every detail of my face. It's excruciating.

"So…you're my parents," I open lamely, "It's good to finally meet you."

"You're sure you don't remember anything about us?" Patricia Cordero pushes, "Not even a little?"

"No. Nothing."

She and Mr. Cordero dart furtive glances over at Jane. "But you and Jane are here together and you seem well… _comfortable_ with another," she argues, "We thought that maybe…"

"No," I interrupt gently before she can finish the thought, "I don't remember her either. We've been thrown together in this crazy situation and we're trying to make the best of it."

Mr. Cordero scowls, seemingly turning my reply over in his mind before he asks, "Does that mean you two are trying to date or something? Is…is that what's going on here?"

"No!" both Jane and I exclaim simultaneously. We look at each other briefly in an tacit exchange before I forge ahead to clarify, "Jane and I are becoming friends. That's it. She came with me today to offer emotional support."

Patricia Cordero deflates then, as if her last remnants of hope have died out. "And you needed her support because we're strangers to you," she concludes sadly.

"Well yeah, but…that doesn't have to be a bad thing," I rush to reassure her, recalling the encouragement Lorena had given me earlier, "Jane and I started off as strangers too and it's getting better." I pause to smile at her tenderly and she smiles back. "It's going really well actually," I murmur before giving my full attention back to Patricia, "and I hope, eventually, it can be the same way with us."

She dabs at the tears welling in her eyes but otherwise maintains her composure. "Me too."

"So…" Mr. Cordero drawls after a heavy stretch of silence, "…where have you been all this time?"

"I've been living in Houston, Texas for the last six months. I can't tell you where I was before that because the first thing I remember is waking up in a hospital there."

"Why were you in the hospital?" Patricia Cordero asks.

"Malnutrition, hypothermia and shock. I was in the ICU for 16 days and then after I stabilized I was moved to a regular floor and then discharged 10 days after that." I can feel Jane tense beside me. Although she knows the story of my hospitalization this is the first time she's hearing the actual details.

I'm mentally preparing myself for her cross examination but the next question actually comes from Michael Cordero. "You spent nearly a month in the hospital? You must have been very sick."

"Yep."

"Where did you go after you were discharged? You couldn't have known who you were or where to go or anything," he theorizes.

"I didn't. I moved all around. I stayed in a couple of homeless shelters for a few weeks. Committed some petty crimes to get by…you know, survival stuff. I did what I had to do."

I've barely finished the statement before I feel Jane nudge me in the side with her elbow. "You didn't tell me that you were homeless," she whispers.

"Not for long," I reply, "Eventually, I crossed paths with Lorena again and she took me in."

Mrs. Cordero blinks at me in a double-take. "Who is Lorena?"

"She's the best friend I have in the world. She took care of me when I was hospitalized and after I got out." Almost in unison, Michael and Patricia slide a dubious glance over at Jane but she seems so strangely engrossed with studying the carpet fibers beneath her feet that she misses their curious looks. "Lorena saved my life," I tell them, "and she gave me a place to go when I didn't have one. She helped me find a job. She helped me form some kind of identity _and_ she's the one who encouraged me to find you."

I am actually shocked speechless when Patricia Cordero says, "I'd like to meet her someday."

"You would?"

"Yes. To thank her," she whispers tearfully, "for saving your life, for giving you back to us."

However, while Patricia Cordero seems more focused on the emotional side of this reunion, her ex-husband proves to be the more practical of the two. "Wait a minute," he utters as if the details of my story finally settles on him all at once, "You're saying that you only remember the last six months?"

"That's right."

"What about the rest of it? You don't have any idea how you ended up 'dead' in the first place or where you've been all this time?"

"No, I don't. The only thing I can tell you is that wherever I was before probably wasn't a great place."

I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt and roll up the sleeves so that they can have a good look at the faded scars and roughened skin that rings both my wrists. A collective gasp of pure horror sounds through the living room, not just from the Corderos but from Jane as well. After I'm satisfied that they've seen enough, I tug my sleeves back into place.

"I also have the same scars around my ankles," I explain, "The doctors told me that it was likely because I had been shackled for some time and the metal rubbed my skin raw."

Both Jane and Patricia Cordero whimper with my description but Michael Cordero takes the news quietly, though his features are grim with varied emotions. "The doctors also found old rib fractures and bruises when they examined me…" I continue in explanation, "…injuries that they said are consistent with physical abuse."

"Oh my God…oh my God…," Patricia gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as if she feared she might suddenly become ill.

"It's okay," I reassure her, "It's not like I remember any of it. But it's enough for me to know that, wherever I was before I lost my memory, I definitely wasn't having a good time."

"Who would want to do such a thing to you?" Patricia laments, "This whole time we thought you were dead and you were being tortured…chained and beaten like an animal…" She surges to her feet abruptly. "I'm sorry, I need a minute to myself," she says before scrambling from the room. A few minutes later we can all here the distinct sounds of vomiting coming from the back of the house.

I look over at Mr. Cordero helplessly. "I didn't mean to upset her. I was trying to answer your questions."

"It's okay, Mike," he says, "It's just…if we had known you were alive, if we'd even had even a clue, there would have been nothing on this earth that could have stopped me and your mother from finding you."

"I know that. I don't blame you." I bounce a glance between him and Jane. "I don't blame any of you for what happened."

"We have to help you remember," Mr. Cordero says, "We have to figure out who did this to you and see that they are prosecuted."

"That's what I'm trying to do."

"Have you seen a professional yet?" All eyes swing around to regard Patricia Cordero as she returned to the living room. She looks ashen and unsteady on her feet but her face is set with determination as well. I suspect that this woman will fight to the death for me if it comes to that and, for the first time since I arrived, I relax a little. "When was the last time you spoke to a doctor about your condition, Michael?" she asks me.

"It's a waste of time. I was told that the amnesia isn't due to any physical injury…that likely it's an emotional manifestation of what I went through. It's like my mind's way of protecting me."

"Then you need to see a therapist," Jane suggests quietly, speaking for the first time since I began recounting my ordeal, "My grandmother suggested the same thing to me yesterday. You're obviously not having any success on your own so maybe it's time to try something new."

I'm already shaking my head in refusal the instant she says the word 'therapist.' "I don't need a shrink," I tell her, "And besides, I don't have the money for that."

"We do," Mr. Cordero interjects eagerly, "We'll pay for your sessions…whatever you need. We'll help you however we can."

"I can't take money from you."

"Of course you can," Mrs. Cordero insists, "You're our son and we love you whether you can remember that or not. We weren't able to help you these last five years while you were going through hell and I will never stop blaming myself for that. But I will be damned if we don't help you now. So, please…please, Michael, let us help you."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight (Jane POV)**

"Okay, it's almost go time. Let's review the ground rules again."

Hands clasped behind my back, I stop pacing for a brief moment to address my family, much like a general closely inspecting her troops before war. Mom, Dad and Abuela are focused on me in rapt attention, ready to hang onto every word I say. Dad has even gone a step further and has pen and writing pad at the ready so that he can takes notes. Mateo, on the other hand, has the attention span of a typical child and has already moved on to more interesting things in his opinion. He is currently staging a makeshift monster truck rally on Abuela's living room coffee table. And Rafael…well, he's here.

He mostly hangs out in the background, on the periphery of the family's activity, his expression sullen and unenthused. While I appreciate that he wants to be a supportive presence in what I'm anticipating will be an awkward and emotional experience, a tiny part of me wishes he weren't here right now. After all, today is the day that I officially reintroduce Michael to my family. I'm excited, nervous and firmly determined not to let the evening end in disaster.

When Rafael offered to be present when I informed him of my intention to invite Michael to dinner, I initially turned him down. This was going to be an incredibly delicate situation and I didn't really think Rafael glaring daggers at Michael the entire time he was here was going to help matters. Furthermore, Michael really has no context for why Rafael would be glaring daggers at him in the first place (though he has mentioned that he thinks in the scenario that's been recounted to him that _he_ should be the one to hate Rafael and not the other way around). He _knows_ the history but he really doesn't _feel_ anything about it. Therefore, he really has no investment in the past rivalry between them and, because he doesn't care, I imagine that is only going to tick Rafael off even more.

I've told Rafael on numerous occasions already that there is absolutely no reason for him to stay, especially when I know he doesn't really want to be there in the first place. But his answer has remained consistent throughout the morning. Mateo. He wants to be present for Mateo's sake. In his mind, our son is going to have some sort of childish breakdown when he comes face to face with Michael. But I've learned over the course of the last few days that Mateo is much more resilient than I first thought.

When Rafael and I had first sat him down to gently explain to him that Mommy's dead husband wasn't so dead after all, I had been filled with apprehension and doubt. I love Mateo dearly but he can be willful and temperamental when he doesn't get his way. I couldn't be sure if he would see Michael's returned presence as an obstacle to his parents being together again and spiral into a fit of tantrums. The way Rafael kept going on and on about the "potential trauma" Mateo faced that was fully what I had expected to happen. I even did a bit of research on how to help your child adjust to major life changes just so I could be prepared. However, much to my and Rafael's utter shock, Mateo had taken the news surprisingly well.

 _"_ _Does that mean Michael is going to come live with us at the new house?"_

 _It is the last question I expect him to ask and so I dart an uneasy glance over at Rafael. There are no tears, no explosions of rage, just an abundance of curiosity and excitement. It's…strange. Rafael plainly agrees with that. The expression on his face can be aptly described as horrified. Eager to diffuse the situation before it escalates further, I turn back to address Mateo, who is regarding me in wide eyed wonder._

 _"_ _No, baby," I tell him gently, "Michael isn't going to come live with us."_

 _Further shocking, Mateo is actually disappointed. "But why?" he whines, "Then he can be a family with me, you, Daddy, Petra and the twins."_

 _Rafael clears his throat and, after making several attempts to speak, finally manages to reply to our son, "That's not really appropriate, Mateo._ _ **We're**_ _a family and Michael has his own family."_

 _"_ _But can't we be his family too?" Mateo insists stubbornly, "Mommy loves Michael and Mommy loves you so we should all be together because we all love each other. That's what you told me, Daddy. When people love each other, they should be a family."_

I shake the memory of that day from my mind. Since that disastrous first discussion, Rafael and I have worked tirelessly to convince Mateo of all the reasons why Michael living with us cannot work (which essentially boiled down to there being no room for Michael because he's too big). What else was I supposed to say? I had prepared for every contingent and possible reaction except Mateo actually being _happy_ about the news.

But, of course, Mateo couldn't take no for an answer. My determined little son had a solution for making room for Michael too. "Michael can stay in my room!" he had piped excitedly. Clearly, from Mateo's innocent standpoint, Michael's presence wasn't going to detract from his family unit at all but instead enhance it. I credit that to the fact that I made Michael very real to him as he grew up and always emphasized how very much Michael had loved him. I'm sure it also helps that Mateo's family is about as unconventional as they come.

But while I had been pleased by Mateo's obvious attachment and willingness to accept Michael and believed it was a good and healthy thing, Rafael had not been at all pleased. He had confronted me about it that night after we put Mateo to bed. Truthfully, it had been one of the biggest fights we'd ever had since Michael's return and the hurt feelings and resentment that resulted from that confrontation still linger now.

 _"_ _Why would you tell Mateo all those stories about Michael?"_

 _"_ _What are you talking about? You knew I told him about Michael."_

 _"_ _I knew you explained to him why you were sad. I didn't realize you built Michael up to superhero status in his eyes!"_

 _I immediately stiffen at the accusative undercurrent in his tone. "I didn't build him up to 'superhero' status. I told him the truth,'" I reply, "Michael was a significant part of Mateo's life, Rafael!"_

 _"_ _Oh, you told him the truth, did you? Did you also tell him how Michael resented the fact he'd been conceived at all, that he didn't even want you to have Mateo?" Rafael hisses angrily, "Or the fact Michael punched me while I was holding him or that Michael gave the woman involved in his kidnapping a pass because he was sleeping with her? How about all of that?"_

 _"_ _What is wrong with you? You make it sound like Michael was out to deliberately hurt Mateo!"_

 _"_ _Does it matter if it was deliberate or not? It happened and yet, you've built him up in our son's mind to be something he wasn't!"_

 _"_ _Excuse me? That is_ _ **not**_ _what I've done!" I cry, "I told Mateo that Michael loved him, which was true! He adored Mateo and he was looking forward to raising him and watching him grow up!"_

 _"_ _What love are you talking about? Michael was barely in Mateo's life a year and the only reason he bothered was because you and Mateo came as a packaged deal!"_

 _I glare at him, the tenuous thread holding my temper in check snapping completely. "Are you kidding me with this right now? Michael wasn't some casual boyfriend I had back then that just passed through Mateo's life and then was gone! He was my_ _ **husband**_ _and Mateo's stepfather. He rocked him to sleep. He fed him! He changed him! He took care of Mateo when he was sick! He_ _ **loved**_ _Mateo like he was his own son! He didn't walk out on Mateo! We thought he died and if that hadn't happened, Michael would have had a major part of our son's life! So, you can check the self-righteous attitude, Raf, because I don't want to hear you imply that Michael was less than_ _ **ever**_ _again!"_

 _Realizing he had provoked true rage from me, Rafael softens his words and attempts a verbal backtrack but the damage has already been done. "I just don't understand why you had to create this mythical image of Michael to Mateo at all. Now, he won't ever be able to look at this situation realistically."_

 _"_ _He's five. Besides that, I loved Michael and he was still a very real part of my life. I wanted him to be real to Mateo too."_

Even thinking about it now, I can feel my anger reignite all over again. Rafael's disdain for Michael has always been a source of irritation to me, mostly because it seems to ebb and flow depending on the situation. There are times when I think Rafael has come to terms with Michael and the place he had in my life. And then there are times when it's clear that his resentment towards Michael is as strong as ever, when everything that happened with us all those years ago is still fresh.

Once upon a time, I had been able to tolerate that particular character flaw of his and even excuse it but not now. Not after I've learned the extent of what Michael suffered when he was taken from us. Now, I can't abide Rafael bad mouthing him because it truly angers me to hear it. It's not surprising then that, beyond the necessary discussions we had to have in anticipation of Michael's arrival, Rafael and I have largely ignored one another. Were it not for Mateo, we likely wouldn't have interacted at all.

At this precise moment, I'm okay with that. He's not on my list of favorite people right now. And even if he were, even if we tried to talk it out I know we'd eventually find ourselves right back in the same, circular argument. No matter how many times we discuss it, analyze the situation or confront our feelings, Michael continues to be a bone of contention between me and Rafael. I get the sense that nothing less than me cutting off complete contact with Michael will make Rafael happy. And that is where we will always have a fundamental difference…because I have no intention of _ever_ cutting Michael Cordero out of my life.

I try to put those bad feelings out of my heart and head as I survey my family and review the game plan for Michael's arrival one last time. "Okay," I say after a quick glance at the wall clock, "Michael should be here in less than hour. It is very, _very_ important that you not be too clingy or fawn all over him. Tears and hugs are fine but anything more demonstrative than that will make him uncomfortable." I look over to my father, who is furiously scribbling away. "I'm talking to you specifically, Dad."

Dad stops mid-scrawl. "What are you talking about?" he brazens, "Have you forgotten that I am a very gifted actor, Jane? I am master at concealing my true emotions."

I favor him with a smirk of pure skepticism. "Right." My sarcasm then gives way to earnest pleading. "Please, please don't overwhelm him, Dad. He'll run and I'll never see him again."

"I will do my very best to restrain myself, Jane," he promises, "I want him to be comfortable as much as you do."

"Good."

"Is there anything special we need to know before Michael gets here?" Mom asks, "Is talking about the past off limits? Should we do things to try and jog his memory, remind him of the things he likes and doesn't like?"

"Absolutely not," I tell her, "Michael lives very much in the present now so if you want to have a conversation with him, talk to him about that. Treat him as if this truly is the first time you've met him. Try not to pressure him to remember the past."

"¿No quieres que mencionemos el pasado en absoluto?" Abuela asks.

"You can bring it up and tell him all the stories you want," I reply, "But don't put the pressure on him to fill in the blanks. And if he does something or says something that wasn't typical for him before, try not to draw attention to it."

"Got it," Dad says, "Anything else?"

I offer the three of them a grateful smile. "No. Thank you all for doing this."

In the thirty minutes we have left before Michael's arrival, Mom and Abuela finish up dinner in the kitchen while Dad sets the table. Rafael keeps Mateo occupied with his cars and I try not to go out of my mind with waiting. Every time there is the slightest rustling from outside I sprint to the door and fling it open only to be disappointed when Michael isn't on the other side of it. And when I'm not doing that, I'm compulsively glancing out the window in anticipation of his arrival. I think I hear creaking out on the porch and I'm about to dart for the door yet again when Mom intercepts me.

"Jane, you need calm down," she soothes me with a smile, "I'm sure Michael hasn't forgotten how to knock. You don't need to keep running to the door to check."

"What if he's changed his mind, Ma?" I fret, "What if he doesn't come?"

Mom cradles my face in her hands, much like she did when I was a little girl, and presses a tender kiss to my forehead. "Stop it. He's going to be here."

"But what if-,"

"No, we're not going down that rabbit hole," she interrupts, shushing any efforts I make for an argument, "He _is_ going to be here. Say it. I want to hear you say the words, Jane."

I'm aggravated by her methods by obedient to her bidding nonetheless. "He is going to be here."

She smiles. "Good. Now go sit on the sofa because you're driving me crazy with all this pacing!"

As I flop down onto the sofa to watch Rafael and Mateo play together, I know on some level that I'm being ridiculous but I cannot shake the fear that is always with me that Michael will disappear again. I have actual nightmares about it, terrors that awaken me in the night and leave me crying in a cold sweat. I'm so desperate for him to form some kind of attachment to his family, to me and my family, to _anything_ at all because I know if a bond can be built he won't find it so easy to walk away. But when I try to look at the situation through his eyes, I honestly can't fathom why he would want to stay.

He was kidnapped, held prisoner and tortured for years. Every time I think about what he endured I feel sick, sicker still when I remember that I was falling in love and having sex and making a new life while he was rotting. And then, he returns to his old life to discover that everyone he loves has moved on without him. But, the irony is, he's moved on too and has formed a deep attachment and affection for another woman. He also has no memories of the life he once had, nothing to spark a yearning for his past and nothing to hold him back.

I am acutely aware that, at any time, Michael could very well decide that reconnecting with his old life wasn't worth his time. He could very well decide that he preferred his happily ever after with Lorena Diaz in Texas. I don't know what I will do if that happens. The very prospect paralyzes me with fear. Sometimes it feels like I can't even breathe.

If, in the end, Michael decides to turn his back on his past and ignore our existence, I'm not so sure that I could move on as easily and ignore his. I'm not so sure anything would ever be the same for me again. I have five weeks left to convince him that he's where he belongs and I honestly don't know what I will do if I don't succeed. Failure is literally _not_ an option.

I'm so lost in my despondent thoughts that I almost miss the shadow that crosses the front door. In a flash I'm off the sofa and jetting for the door. I yank it open just as Michael starts to turn away and head back down the walk.

"Hey?" I say to his retreating back, "Where are you going?"

He stops in his tracks and slowly pivots to face me with a sheepish expression. "I…I really don't know," he stammers, "I've been standing on your porch for the last five minutes but I couldn't bring myself to knock. I was too afraid."

Without taking my eyes off of him, I pull the door up firmly behind me so our conversation can't be overheard by those inside and slowly close the distance between us. "Why are you afraid?"

"You know, same old thing. I don't want to disappoint anyone."

"That's not going to happen. This is a run-of-the-mill family dinner. There's no reason to be nervous."

"Oh yeah? If it's so 'run-of-the-mill' then why am I sweating profusely right now?"

"Maybe because this is Miami," I venture with a sweet, cajoling smile, "Heat is what we do. If you're not sweating, you're not doing it right." When he doesn't so much as crack a smile, I switch my tactics from humor to tender reassurance. "Please don't worry. It's only my family."

"Yeah, that reminder is not helping."

"Why not?"

"Because it's _your family_ and I want to make a good impression on them…you know…because of you."

"Because of me?" There's something about the way he says those three, simple words that go straight to my heart. I know there's a 1000 watt smile on my face right now but I don't even care. I can't stop grinning.

"Yes. You are becoming very important to me, Jane Villanueva, and I want your family to like me."

"Then you're already ahead of the game, Michael, because they _love_ you."

"That doesn't count," he says, "They love who I used to be. I want them to love who I am now."

The quiet sincerity in his words that leaves me a little breathless. Or maybe it's the fact that this moment doesn't feel like we're preparing for a casual dinner but instead for something infinitely more profound. I find myself getting lost in his fervent, blue gaze and it feels like the world has fallen away from around us and we are the only two people left. I remember the last time he made me feel that way. It had been on the eve before our wedding day when he had recited his vows to me in private.

A curious flutter settles in the pit of my stomach before creeping upward to warmly cradle my heart. I feel my throat constrict with emotion. Hoping to distract myself from the sudden feeling inundating me because I'm not yet ready to acknowledge what it means, I direct my attention to the bottle of wine on which he currently has a death grip.

"Is that for me?"

"Um…yeah," he replies, passing it over to me, "I don't know why but it felt wrong for me to show up here empty-handed."

I want to tell him that's because his mother deeply ingrained in him the importance of being a gentleman when he was a boy and those lessons have become an integral part of who he is. I want to tell him that some things just can't be forgotten but, I hold my tongue. Although I believe that Michael is still the same man he has always been, I also know he's not ready to reconcile himself to that idea. I can't prod him into being the man I knew. That has to evolve naturally and I need to be patient while it does. After all, that was the very thing I had warned my family against doing earlier.

"This is one of my favorite brands," I observe as I turn the bottle over in my hands, "How did you know?" However, there is an unspoken question that punctuates my words. _How did you remember?_ The desperate hope is surely written all over my face.

Michael answers the question as if I had voiced it out loud. "It's not what you're thinking," he prefaces gently, "You mentioned it in passing when we were on the phone last night. When I saw it in the store, I had to get it for you."

"Thank you. That's so sweet."

"You've done so much for me. I wanted to do something for you too."

My initial disappointment at learning that he hadn't regained a memory after all is salved by the realization that he wasn't simply indulging me last night when we found ourselves locked in conversation until nearly 2 a.m. What had begun as a brief goodnight text from me had evolved into several bantering ones which eventually escalated into an actual phone conversation. I had laughed more in that 2 and a half hours than I had in an entire week. By the time we finally said our goodbyes, my jaws were aching from so much grinning.

But then the next morning came and with it uncertainty and doubt followed. I began to second guess myself and Michael, questioning whether or not the previous night had been organic or if I had pressured Michael into it. After all, _I_ was the one who had sent the initial text and _I_ was the one who called him. By the time I was done agonizing, I was convinced that he had merely tolerated the conversation out of courtesy rather than actual desire. But it seems that couldn't be further from the truth. Michael hadn't felt obligated at all. He had actually _wanted_ to talk to me. When I express my wonder over that fact to him, Michael chokes out a stunned laugh.

"Of course, I wanted to talk to you, Jane. I like talking to you very much."

"Really? I couldn't tell because you never text or call me. If there's conversation between us, I'm always the one to initiate it, Michael, so what else am I supposed to think?"

"You're right," he acknowledges in a gruff tone, "But it's not that I don't want to call you. I have to stop myself all the time."

"Why?"

"It makes me feel guilty, that's why."

"What do you have to feel guilty about?"

"Lorena," he whispers, "She's that person for me, the one I could always talk to about anything. And she used to be the _only_ person…until you. I'm not used to that and I'm not really sure how I feel about it."

I'm left speechless by the admission. But by the time I unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth to speak, Michael abruptly jumps in startled reaction. His brows snap together as he suddenly becomes engrossed with something just beyond my shoulder. Curious, I follow his line of sight only to discover my parents and grandmother crowded in the window, their faces pressed against glass as they eavesdrop without an ounce of shame. I groan inwardly.

"So, I'm thinking that's your family," he drawls with a wry smile.

"Yeah. Why don't you come on inside before they humiliate me any further?"

I can sense the tension radiating from his body as we step inside the house together. I give him a reassuring shoulder nudge. As I do, I lock eyes with Rafael and note the displeasure darkening his handsome features. My heart quivers in anxious reaction but I can't allow myself to become distracted by Rafael's unhappiness. This moment isn't for him and it isn't for me. It's for Michael.

With that determination, I deliberately turn away from him and focus all of my attention on introducing my family to Michael. I begin with Abuela. "Michael, this is my grandmother Alba Villanueva."

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Villanueva. Thank you for having me."

Despite my earlier warnings, my grandmother reaches forward to cup Michael's face in her hands and plants a firm kiss to each of his cheeks. "Mi querido hijo, es tan bueno tenerte en casa. Te Hemos extrañado."

Michael favors her with a discomfited smile. "I have no idea what you just said but…thanks, I think."

"Abuela," I admonish in a hiss, "did you not listen to a word I said before?"

"Tranquilízate, Jane. Este es un regreso al hogar."

"It certainly is," Mom murmurs in agreement, stepping forward to pull Michael into a brief but fervent hug, "I can't believe I'm actually looking at you right now. Even though I've known for a while that you were back, this is the first time it feels real."

"And who are you?" Michael wonders with a nervous smile.

"I'm Xiomara, Jane's mother. And don't you _dare_ call me Ms. Villanueva or I swear I will break your kneecaps."

I had warned Michael ahead of time that Mom has cancer in the hopes that we could avoid any uncomfortable faux paus over dinner. But it heartens me to know that, either Michael is really good at covering shock or my mother doesn't look nearly as unwell as I think she does. Whatever the case, I'm glad their introduction goes so smoothly.

"Should I call you Mrs. de la Vega instead?" Michael asks politely.

"No. My name is Xiomara. You can call me that or you can call me Xo."

"Got it. I'm pleased to meet you, Xiomara."

I might have sunk through the floor in abject humiliation were it not for the fact Michael is smiling and appears somewhat relaxed at the moment. The real test, however, is going to be my father. Still struggling with some measure of apprehension, I turn my attention to the next introduction, my father, but Rogelio takes the reins before I can even open my mouth.

"I know you don't remember me, Michael," he says, "But we have a very rich history, a great friendship that defies time and space and even death. I have faith that someday you will remember our bond and our great bromance can begin anew."

"You must be Rogelio," Michael determines with short laugh, "Jane's told me a lot about you. I heard that you named your daughter after me."

"I did. It was the greatest honor that I could pay your memory. I am very happy you're home, Michael."

"Thank you."

"I'm going to embrace you now. You should prepare yourself."

"Oh…oh…okay."

In the end, I literally have to pry Rogelio off of him but Michael largely takes my father's emotional enthusiasm quite well. He doesn't seem offended or put off at all, which is a great relief to me. But I still have one more introduction to make before I can relax completely. After gulping down a calming breath, I beckon Rafael and Mateo forward.

"Michael," I begin with a shaky breath, "you've already met Rafael. But this…" I reach over to grab Mateo's hand and draw him against me, "…this is my son. This is Mateo."

To my surprise and delight, Michael actually crouches down low so that he and Mateo are at eye level when he shakes his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mateo. Your mommy has told me a lot about you too."

"She's told me a lot about _you_ ," Mateo replies candidly, "When did you get back from Heaven?"

Michael coughs out a strangled laugh while the rest of us cringe in mortification. "I actually haven't been to Heaven, Mateo."

"That's where Mommy said you went after you died." I'm frantically racking my brain for a way to change the subject when Mateo does it himself. He cocks his head to one side and squints at Michael with dissecting intensity. "You look really different. How come you have a beard now? You don't have one in Mommy's pictures."

Michael blinks in surprise and self-consciously rubs his whiskered chin. "I don't?"

Mateo shakes his head. "No. I can show you!" Before I can stop him, Mateo tears away from me and scampers off to retrieve the family photo album which Abuela keeps in a small hutch. He peels through the album for several minutes, ignoring my, his father's and my family's sharp admonishments to leave it alone in his usual headstrong way, until he finds what he is looking for. Then he scampers back over to Michael to proudly present him with what he's found.

"This is a picture of you and me," he crows triumphantly, "I was just a little baby. And see? You don't have a beard. I don't think you should have a beard."

"Okay," Michael agrees with a smile before he looks down at the snapshot.

There is a collective suspension of breath as we all watch Michael intensely while he studies the photo. It happens to be a candid shot I caught of him and Mateo when they were fast asleep together on the living room sofa. Michael is still upright, his head lolled back against the cushions while a fourteen month old Mateo is curled up asleep on his chest and loosely draped in his arms. It is one of my most prized pictures and one I have shown to Mateo countless times over the years.

Michael traces his finger over the glossy veneer and then gasps softly, as if he were just unexpectedly jolted with electricity. He lifts his head to regard me with glassy, blue eyes. "Oh my God…I remember this day," he utters slowly, "You were working on a story and I kept Mateo with me."

I stare at him, wide-eyed. "What?"

"You needed to concentrate because you were trying to meet a deadline," he continues softly, no longer present with us but back in that day, _that memory_. "He was fussy and so I took him so you could work. I sat with him on the sofa and made silly faces to keep him entertained. He giggled so much and every time he laughed, I laughed too."

I can practically feel my heart thumping in my throat. I don't want to move or breathe or do anything that might upset the delicate, precarious nature of this moment. I don't know if everything is going to come rushing back to him in a dramatic wave of events or if his memory will return in gradual stages. Whatever the case, I feel like I'm poised on the edge of a cliff, mere seconds away from going over completely.

It's rather ironic but, in hindsight, not so surprising that _Mateo_ should be the one to help Michael finally unlock the door to his past. Their bond had formed from pure, unconditional love after all. In the end, I hadn't been able to break through. His parents hadn't managed much success in that regard either. Only Mateo, specifically Michael's love for him, proved to be strong enough to penetrate through years and years of repressed trauma.

Somehow I manage to croak, "Can…can you remember anything else?"

He closes his eyes, his features scrunched in concentration as he tries to access more dormant memories but, less than a second later, he opens his eyes and they are filled with discouragement and self-flagellation. Michael shakes his head sadly. "That's it, I think. That's all. There's nothing else. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. This is enough," I whisper and I'm surprised to realize I mean it, "It's really okay, Michael."

Even with the crushing disappointment I feel right now, there is also a flare of hope as well because we've finally made some sort of progress. My headstrong, little son literally threw out every rule I had in regards to Michael and…he succeeded where I had failed. I've never been more grateful for Mateo's hardheaded stubbornness than I am at that moment. This is the first time that I truly let myself believe and not just blindly hope that Michael will regain his memories.

And it's an incredible start.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine (Michael POV)**

The past three weeks of my life have been, well for lack of a better description, pretty weird.

It began with an emotional dinner hosted by the Villanueva family and has only escalated from there, ending with me aimlessly roaming the aisles of the local Target in search of, you guessed it, Jane Villanueva. I honestly don't even know how I got to this point. There's a saying I heard once, that life comes at you fast. _Buddy, you don't even know._

Life is definitely coming at _me_ at a dizzying rate, landing well placed punches that leave me disoriented with each pass around. It's getting harder and harder to keep up with the changes and people and boundless information that seems to define my existence as Michael Cordero, Jr. There is a certain irony in all of this as well. The longer I stay in Miami, the place that was once my home, hearth and livelihood, the more confused I become. It doesn't help when everything I'm familiar with changes from day to day.

I recently began therapy with an expert PTSD clinician whose specialty is hypnosis. In addition to that huge adjustment, I've also been emotionally assaulted by a fluffy cat, formed an unlikely friendship with a precocious six year old, learned that Rafael Solano apparently has a very loyal pit bull named Petra, found myself unexpectedly drawn back into the blue brotherhood by a bunch of cops intent on "showing me love," and, _finally_ , received confirmation that the dead man in Michael Cordero's grave is definitely _not_ Michael Cordero. He had also, apparently, been a victim of homicide. That last part I had been a suspicion of mine since learning that someone else had been buried in my grave but having confirmation still left me a little out of sorts, as did the rest of it.

 _A lot_ out of sorts if I'm honest, particularly because on top of all of that I am now struggling to control my growing feelings for Jane Villanueva.

In retrospect, the subtle shifting in my life had started off innocently enough. When I met with Dr. Alan Beavers for my first therapy session, Jane and the Corderos had been there to provide support. In light of the resurfacing of a few memories (most of which curiously revolved around Mateo Gloriano Rogelio Solano-Villanueva), I was hopeful that Dr. Beavers would be able to help me unlock more of my past. It was there, in his office, flanked by my parents and Jane that Dr. Beavers officially diagnosed me with PTSD. He explained that much of our therapy sessions would involve me talking out my feelings but that a portion of it would also be dedicated to helping me access the deepest, darkest parts of my psyche that I've been too afraid to face.

That's right. According to Dr. Beavers, the reason I can't remember anything is because I don't _want_ to remember. It had taken me all of two minutes to label him a useless quack and go storming out of his office. I had turned a deaf ear to the Corderos and Jane's frantic pleading for me to give it a chance and had gone for a walk on the beach instead. I spent a good majority of that time wandering afterward and ignoring their repeated calls. When I couldn't stand to be alone in my own head any longer, I called Lorena and told her what happened.

 _"_ _And you just walked out?"_

 _"_ _I just walked out."_

 _"_ _But you said yourself that you were finally starting to make progress! This is your chance to get your life back! Why would you do something so stupid?"_

 _"_ _Because what he was suggesting was stupid! There's no way in hell I brought my amnesia on myself! The only thing I've wanted for half a year is to remember who I am!"_

 _"_ _Is it really? Be honest with yourself, Michael. Would you be so mad about it if part of you wasn't afraid it might be true?_

In the end, once I got over being indignant and frustrated, I could appreciate Lorena's unwillingness to sugarcoat the situation for me. For quite some time, I had been nurturing an idealized image of the life I left behind. I never let myself consider for one moment that it might have been anything besides sunshine and roses. After all, it just _had_ to better than what I knew presently.

But now, I had no choice but to analyze the facts. The truth was I'd once had a job that put me in close proximity with dangerous criminals, criminals who apparently had no qualms about holding me hostage for five years. My history with wife is complicated and, as I'm coming to learn, also extremely painful. My parents are divorced and barely on speaking terms. That's not exactly a storybook life that's waiting for me if my memories return.

Is it possible that, on some sub-conscious level, I'm afraid of that? Could that be the reason I've barely made any progress in all this time? I didn't have the answers to those questions and, because I didn't, I started to consider that Dr. Beavers might not be such a quack after all.

So I did the only thing I could do. I went back to my psychologist and asked him if we could start again. Once that was done, I had called the Corderos and apologized for my behavior. They were patient and understanding and all too grateful to learn I hadn't decided to disappear. I deliberately saved my trip to the Villanueva home for last. I knew instinctively that I was going to need to issue Jane's apology in person. As I'd anticipated, she was pretty upset.

 _"_ _You promised me you wouldn't run off like that again!"_

 _"_ _I didn't run off! I needed some time to myself."_

 _"_ _Then just say that, Michael! Don't you realize that every time you disappear like that it feels like I'm losing you all over again?"_

When she had started to cry following that outburst, I had reacted on pure instinct. I reached out to pull her into my arms, relieved and surprised when she came against me without resistance. I didn't even realize how much I needed to hold her until I was actually doing it. She hugged me tightly in return, her fingers bunched in the freshly laundered cotton of my t-shirt as if she had been waiting for that moment for a lifetime. At least, that was exactly how _I_ had felt at that moment… Warm and safe and drowning in contented familiarity.

It felt like I had finally come home.

I could have stayed in that moment with her forever. I had definitely wanted to but, in the end, the universe had other plans. Eventually, her cat's persistent and obnoxious meowing demanded our attention and finally prompted us to release one another. The mild irritation I'd felt over the interruption was heightened when the aforementioned cat began circling my ankles with a satisfied purr.

 _"_ _Jane…I think your cat is getting fresh with me."_

 _"_ _I think you mean_ _ **your**_ _cat."_

 _"_ _Since when do I have a cat?"_

 _"_ _Since I made you a deathbed promise that you could have one."_

According to Jane, I had apparently adored that animal in the past but I'm a bit skeptical of that claim. I'm not sure I would label myself as a cat person. Sure, she can be adorable and maybe I like to pet her every so often but it doesn't mean that she and I are going to become friends. At most, I tolerate the furball and her constant invasion into my personal space.

However, it seems that Faith M. Whiskers III (and what the hell kind of name is that anyway) isn't at all dissuaded by my apathy. She is determined to make me love her. So now whenever I have dinner at the Villanueva home, which has been happening twice a week for the past three weeks now, that stupid cat always makes herself at home in my lap.

The one bright spot in her tenacious stalking is that her feline antics clearly tickle Mateo and anything that tickles that kid tickles me. I haven't spent an inordinate amount of time with him but I am quickly discovering that Mateo Solano-Villanueva is pretty easy to like. He doesn't seem to harbor the reserve and resentment towards me that is so typical of his father. In contrast, Mateo is friendly, inquisitive (albeit frustratingly headstrong at times) and not at all adverse to speaking his six year old mind. Having recently celebrated a birthday, he now thinks that he knows everything. Although, that last particular character trait is both blessing and curse.

 _"_ _How come it's taking you so long to remember?"_

 _At first I think I'm dreaming when I hear his voice. "Mateo? What are you…why are you calling me?" I glance at the digital numbers illuminated on the bedside clock. "It's 2 o'clock in the morning! Where's your mother? How did you get my number?"_

 _"_ _Mommy's asleep so I decided to borrow her phone. I've got a lot on my mind right now."_

 _"_ _Shouldn't you be asleep?"_

 _"_ _I told you…I got a lot on my mind. I need to talk."_

 _I shift upright in bed and click on the lamp. "Oh yeah?" I yawn, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, "What do you need to talk about?"_

 _"_ _Do you still know your abc's?"_

 _"_ _Um…yeah?"_

 _"_ _Can you remember how to tie your shoes?"_

 _"_ _Of course."_

 _He huffs an exasperated sigh. "Can you count to 100?"_

 _"_ _Yes, I can. Is there a reason any of this is important?"_

 _"_ _How can you remember all of that stuff but you can't remember me and Mommy?"_

 _I slump back against the headboard with his lament. "I don't know, buddy."_

 _"_ _Mommy said that we can't move into our new house with Daddy until you start to remember so can you please hurry up already?"_

The gnawing guilt his innocent demand had caused prevented me from sleeping for the rest of the night. All the kid wants is to have the typical family with his parents happy together and under the same roof. It makes even more sense that he should have it too since his parents are romantically involved and are obviously committed to one another. I feel like hell that I've inadvertently stalled his dream because the last thing I want to do in life is hurt that kid. It bothered me so much, in fact, that I eventually took my concerns to Jane.

 _"_ _I don't want you delaying your plans with Rafael for my sake. If you want to move in with him then you should do it. If you want to marry him, you should do that too."_

 _"_ _It isn't the right time."_

 _"_ _Mateo seems to think so."_

 _"_ _Mateo is a child."_

 _"_ _Okay, well_ _ **you**_ _seemed to think so before I got here. So, if it isn't because of me then why are you stalling?"_

 _"_ _Don't you think things are going to change when you get your memories back, Michael? I don't want to give Mateo any hope for the future until I know what that looks like."_

And there it was. Her first tacit admission that she felt something _more_ for me than friendship. It isn't exactly a sweeping surprise. I have suspected for quite a while now that Jane's feelings for me weren't entirely platonic. It was to be expected, after all. We had been in love, had been still newlyweds with plans to expand our family when I "died." The connection that had spurred her to make vows before God to love me for a lifetime or until death parted us didn't vanish after I was gone. It had simply fallen dormant. So the reawakening of those feelings with my return was expected.

What was _not_ expected was that _my_ feelings for Jane Villanueva would gradually evolve and deepen into something more the longer I knew her, especially not expected because I don't have the reference to our history that she does. For me, she's just some woman that I met less than a month ago but I can't deny that somehow, someway she's managed to embed herself firmly in my heart and now I don't know how to excise her…or even if I want to. I can't even pinpoint when what I feel for her started to change. I don't know exactly when indifference became like and like became affection and affection began to grow into…

Nope. I am not going there. I decided it then when she told me she was uncertain about our future and I'm reaffirming it now. I will not even allow myself to entertain the thought because I know if I do the consequences could be disastrous. Too many people stood to be hurt in the aftermath if I decided to indulge my inexplicable attraction to Jane Villanueva, namely her son.

There is also Lorena to think about, who has recently become more agreeable to the idea of a relationship with me. And Rafael, who I don't particularly care for, but to whom I still owe a debt of gratitude because he helped to give me back my life. The honest truth is that he and Jane have carved out a lives for themselves with their son and I don't really fit into that picture. I certainly didn't need anyone to tell me what stood to be lost if I let my burgeoning feelings get the better of me but that hadn't stopped Petra Solano from getting in my face about it.

She had stormed into my motel room about two weeks ago as if she owned the place. Blond, beautiful and altogether too confident. I decided right then on the spot. I didn't like her. Not one bit.

 _"_ _Who the hell are you?"_

 _"_ _I'll be your worst nightmare if you don't listen to me very carefully."_

 _"_ _Excuse me? Do we know each other?"_

 _"_ _It's a long story. The condensed version is my ex-husband is involved with your ex-wife."_

 _"_ _You were married to Rafael? Okay, that explains it. You're just as much an entitled jackass as he is!"_

 _"_ _I didn't come here to discuss my ass. I came here to set you straight about something."_

 _"_ _No thanks. I'll pass. You can leave the way you came. Don't let the door hit you on your way out."_

 _"_ _You really don't get why I'm here, do you? Jane is Rafael's entire world, Michael. He adores her. Don't ruin this for him. You've already had your happily ever after with her. Let Rafael have his."_

While I resent being placed into a position where I am expected to be the keeper of Rafael Solano's happiness I also know that it's the right thing to do. So, I'm really left with no other choice in the matter. I shut Jane down. I tell her that, while I value her friendship, the only thing I want or feel for her is friendship. I tell her that regardless of whether I regain my memory or not, I had serious doubts that those feelings would change.

 _"_ _Because of Lorena?"_

 _"_ _Because of Lorena."_

 _"_ _I think you're mistaking gratitude for love, Michael."_

 _"_ _And I think you're living in the past. You have a completely different life now. So do I."_

 _"_ _You weren't some high school crush. You were my husband! If you hadn't been kidnapped, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You and I would still be together. It doesn't matter if it's legal or not…I still feel like I'm your wife and I think we should address that."_

 _"_ _What about Rafael? Do you love him?"_

 _"_ _Of course I do! He's the father of my child. He's my best friend. We have an incredible history together."_

 _"_ _So then you know what you have to do."_

 _"_ _You and I have an incredible history too."_

 _"_ _That doesn't matter, Jane. Not anymore. I'm in love with someone else and so are you. It's time to let go of the past. I've moved on from it and you should too."_

It wasn't entirely a lie. There had been a time in the very recent past when I couldn't imagine myself with any woman besides Lorena. She had been my friend, my protector and my stable, safe place for as long as I could literally remember. I certainly do love Lorena but what I feel for Jane isn't something I can explain. I'm drawn to her and the pull I feel only becomes stronger the more I'm around her. And while I may be resolved in my decision not to pursue a romance with her, it's impossible for me to forsake her friendship. Like I said, she's in my heart and she's wedged in there firmly.

In the meantime, I encourage Jane to move forward in her relationship with my blessing. And even though it hurts when she finally accepts Rafael Solano's marriage proposal, I tell myself it's the right thing, the _best_ thing for everyone. I won't let myself wish for something more with her and I won't give her a reason to wish for it either. I have to believe that one day the feelings we have for each other will fade. I hope they will. They _have_ to fade.

I must remind myself again and again that she is in love with someone else and I am in love with someone else. I rationalize in my mind that five years is a long time and that my memory loss would only serve as a hindrance. I convince myself that the connection between us is simply a remnant of our shared past. It's not like we're meant to be together (though sometimes when I'm feeling weak and vulnerable I let myself wonder) because surely, if we were, we wouldn't have moved on to other people. Surely, if we were, Mateo wouldn't exist. And I'm _glad_ he exists. Truly glad.

 _"_ _Hey, guess what!"_

 _"_ _Mateo, you gotta stop calling me so late. Does your mom know you have her phone again?"_

 _"_ _Me, Mommy and Daddy are going to move into a new house together!"_

 _"_ _That's great. Congratulations, kiddo! I bet you're psyched."_

 _"_ _I am. I've wanted this for my whole, entire life."_

 _"_ _Yeah…all six years of it."_

 _"_ _You can come live with us too, if you want. You can share my room."_

 _"_ _Thanks, but…I don't think that's appropriate, buddy."_

 _"_ _That's the same thing Daddy says."_

 _"_ _Well, your daddy is a very wise man."_

 _"_ _It might help you remember if you came to live with us. Don't you want to remember, Michael? Then we can be best friends like you and Papa!"_

 _"_ _We're going to be best friends no matter what, Mateo."_

 _"_ _You promise?"_

 _"_ _I promise. Now go to bed and, for God's sake, quit stealing your mom's phone."_

It shouldn't be too difficult for me to stay the course in regards to Jane. After all, I have the best motivator of all. Mateo. I am really starting to love that kid and his random, late night phone calls. Of all the people who have come into my life and who are threaded in my past, he's the one I feel most connected with and I think it's because he's the only one I've had a few memories about. It's enough for me to know that I loved him. I truly, deeply and utterly loved that kid like he was my own.

Whenever I find myself fantasizing about Jane or the love we once shared, I imagine Mateo's sweet, innocent, _trusting_ face and that brings me right back down to earth. I may be in the process of figuring out who I am and what I want but I know one thing for a certainty. I do not want and will not become a homewrecker. Just not happening.

So, I stay focused on Lorena. I faithfully attend therapy. I have lunch with my parents once a week. I try to put my time and energy into things I can control. Which is exactly what prompted me to go to the police station and file an official police report in relation to my kidnapping. In hindsight, it was not my most thought out plan.

Too say that I was mobbed the second I set foot in the station house sounds like dramatic exaggeration but it's not far from the truth. Within moments, I found myself surrounded by a wall of cops. They approached me one after the other after the other, shaking my hand, hugging me, clapping me on the shoulder heartily and telling me how good it was to see me again. On the one hand, it was great to know I had been missed. On the other hand, it felt surreal because those men were relating to me like I was still a cop. Even my former captain had offered me my old job back, assuming that I would want a hand in charging the criminal responsible for my disappearance.

But I didn't. I don't. I don't want any part of it. It's enough to finally have confirmation that another man had, indeed, been buried in my grave. According to the captain, the police are currently running DNA tests on the remains in an effort to uncover the man's identity. Strangely the news fills me with a mixture of relief and guilt. Relief because I can finally put to rest the secret fear that I might not be myself after all. And guilt because, well…I feel partly responsible for that man's death.

All of those thoughts surrounding Mateo, Jane, Lorena and even that nameless dead man are beating around in my brain while I wander through the Target like a little, lost orphan. I am in the middle of contemplating a container of liquid Tide and trying to decide if I want to purchase the plain or scented brand when my cellphone chimes to life. I glance at the screen and find the text from Jane that I have been waiting for.

 _I have a situation. Where are you?_

 _Aisle 7. Laundry Detergent. What's up?_

 _Mateo meltdown. Need back up. Meet me in outdoor supplies._

 _On it._

It isn't hard to find them at all. All I have to do is follow the sound of Mateo's irate screams. As I round the corner I come upon a scene that stops me in my tracks. Mateo is currently clinging to a tent display, and destroying it in the process, while Jane unsuccessfully tries to pry him off. They are also surrounded by beleaguered Target associates who are debating on whether or not they should call the police. I quickly step forward before things can escalate further.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's with all the family discord?" The second Mateo hears my voice, he releases the display and comes flying into my arms with noisy tears. I shoo away the lingering Target staff. "I've got it from here." As a clearly annoyed Jane closes the distance between us I ask her what's going on.

"He wants me to buy him a tent so that I can take him camping."

"And she's said no because she's a big mean meanie!" Mateo sniffles petulantly.

"Hey now," I admonish him softly, "That's no way to talk to your mom, is it?"

Mateo makes a face and then pokes his tongue out at Jane for good measure. "It is when she's being a big, fat meanie!"

"No, it's not," I tell him firmly, "It's never okay that you talk to your mom like that because she's your mom. No one will ever love you or take care of you the way she does, Mateo, and that deserves your respect. Always. Even when she makes you angry, even when you don't agree, you _have_ to respect your mother. It's important."

"But she won't take me camping and I want to go camping," he sobs.

"Buddy, we don't always get what we want and you can't throw a fit every time you don't because that's not good. Do you understand?" He nods. He's sullen and pouting when he does it but he does it. Beyond his shoulder I see Jane offer me a grateful smile and mouth "thank you." I return her smile briefly before giving my full attention to Mateo. "Now maybe if you apologize to your mom for your behavior, she might reconsider buying you a tent."

Mateo dutifully does so. "Now will you _please_ buy me a tent? I promise to be on my best behavior."

"It has nothing to do with your behavior, baby. You know I'm a disaster at camping and your dad isn't interested. And you know Papa won't go. There's no one to take you."

"Michael can take me."

I'm so stunned by the declaration and how easily he's roped me into something I never volunteered for that I can only blink in disbelief at first. "Um…Michael can't take you camping," I tell him wryly, "because Michael doesn't know how to camp."

"Yes, you do," Mateo insists, "Mommy said you loved it."

I'm about to tell him that I have no recollection of that at all when I suddenly have string of memories that come at me from out of nowhere. Assembling a tent with my father under a blanket of twinkling stars, racing my brother on our bikes as we head down to the lake, my first kiss with the girl staying two campsites down from us, sleeping under the canopy of the night sky with my academy buddies the night before graduation and finally camping with Jane in all her disheveled, sweaty glory.

 _"_ _To make up for the heat and the bugs and the rash you got from the bug spray I have whittled you a…giraffe!"_

 _"_ _Thank you. That is so…random."_

She hated that experience. She told me it was never happening again. I remember that night with her so clearly and I remember thinking how easy it would be to fall crazy in love with her because I was already halfway there. When I look up at Jane, I know without asking that she is remembering that day too. We might have stayed like that indefinitely, staring at each other in unspoken emotion if Mateo didn't begin waving his small hand in front of my face in an effort to reclaim my attention.

"Why do you have that funny look on your face, Michael?" he asks curiously, "Is something wrong? Are you sad?"

"No. I'm not sad, buddy. I was just thinking that I would love to go camping with you."

"You would? Yay! I'm going camping!" he cries, throwing his arms around me in an exuberant hug, "Thank you, Michael!"

I look over at Jane as I hug him back and our eyes lock in another profoundly intense and unwavering stare. "You're welcome, Mateo," I murmur, "I can't think of anything I want more."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten (Jane POV)**

"Why do you have all of these outgoing calls to Michael on your phone?"

My response to that is kneejerk. I forget about the box I am currently packing and lurch forward to where Rafael stands in the threshold of my old bedroom to snatch my phone from his palm. "What are you doing?" I demand, the accusation in my tone apparent, "So you're just going through my phone now?"

"It was ringing," he explains calmly, "I didn't reach it in time so I was checking your missed calls."

Just like that, my indignation is replaced with chagrin. "Oh," I reply, suddenly feeling ridiculous over my volatile reaction, "Sorry. Thank you. But maybe next time just bring the phone to me." I sincerely hope that he will let it go after that but I should have known better.

"You seem rather defensive about me answering your phone, Jane." He slides his hands into his pockets and regards me with a cool, speculative stare. "Is there a particular reason why?"

 _Because I'm still in love with Michael._ The words are fairly exploding in my brain right now but I don't dare voice them aloud. It has taken me several weeks to even reach the point where I could even admit that there were feelings at all. In the beginning, I rationalized them away. It was our deep, emotional history. It was the latent connection we shared due to our marriage. It was because he had once known me better than all others. He had been my partner in crime. I could be my realest self with him.

Of course, I would feel attached to him. He knew me in a way that no one else did. But that was only sentiment, right? It doesn't matter that my heart flutters every time he's in the room or that I sometimes fantasize about kissing him or that I miss sleeping next to him at night. Who doesn't daydream about their former husband while engaged to another man? That's what I told myself, over and over, until I eventually realized I've been in this same place once before. Now I've reached the point where I can't reason my desire for him away anymore. It's practically all that I think about.

Truthfully, I suppose I've always known that my feelings for Michael hadn't completely vanished. After all, we had been married and had anticipated spending the rest of our lives together. My love for him had remained well beyond his death but without the same undeniable pull. Instead, it was as if my love for him had fallen into stasis. In order to move on, I had buried my need for him deep and for five years it had lain dormant, never to be awakened again…until suddenly it was. Now, I couldn't quell the warmth that came up into my heart unbidden whenever I was near him, whenever I thought of him.

Still, I've been trying very hard to convince myself that the feelings will go away. We are both involved with other people and have moved far beyond the life we'd once shared. Michael had even come right out and told me that there was no chance for us romantically because he wanted Lorena and no one else. Considering the history he had with her, I had believed him too. I truly had…until that day in Target when he remembered our first calamitous camping trip together. Ever since that day, the way he looks at me is different. I can't pinpoint what it is but something has most definitely shifted for him.

He's been extremely guarded with me ever since. We still spend time together and he continues to eat dinner with me and my family on a weekly basis. He's even taken a job in the meantime at a local body shop to support himself while he stays in Miami. Finally, the fear I've been harboring that he will one day disappear into the ether as suddenly as he appeared is beginning to abate. Still, even with that reassurance, I can sense his tension whenever we are together.

While he is growing closer and more comfortable with my family, even to the point of tentatively and gradually rebuilding his relationship with all of them, Michael has become much more formal with me. It feels as if he's put a wall up between us and I can sense the distance grow every time we're together. And while I understand that distance is probably a needed thing, especially now when I've accepted Rafael's proposal and we are set to move in with each other tomorrow, I can't help but miss the relaxed intimacy that Michael and I used to share. It's especially difficult because I suspect, even in spite of his reserve, Michael misses it as much as I do.

It's little wonder then that I'm so jumpy about Rafael answering my phone. I feel guilty. Even though I haven't cheated physically or emotionally, my heart _is_ divided and I know that's not fair to Rafael. I did accept his marriage proposal after all. I owe him my unwavering loyalty. He deserves as much from me.

Back when the roles had been reversed and I was developing feelings for Rafael while still with Michael, I had ended my engagement to Michael and that had proved to be a mistake. I have no desire to repeat it. I'm going to marry Rafael so I know I need to work through my feelings for Michael and fight hard to excise them. In spite of my determination, the guilt remains intense.

Still, it's a little ironic that those outgoing calls should stir up such feelings of self-flagellation inside me since most of them hadn't come from me in the first place. The fault lies squarely with my son. Lately, Mateo has been dialing Michael every chance he gets. I tell Rafael as much.

"I didn't realize they were talking so often," he mumbles in a tone I know indicates displeasure, "When did that start happening?"

"You already know that Mateo is fascinated with him. He's been so excited about this camping trip that he's called Michael every day this week."

"And you're okay with that?"

I regard him with a wary scowl as I pocket my phone. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you're encouraging our son to spend time with a stranger."

"Michael isn't a stranger!" I flare, "He's Mateo's godfather! And besides, you agreed to the trip!"

"What choice did I have? You already promised Mateo he could go!"

I concede his point before our argument can escalate further. "You're right," I tell him, "I should have consulted with you first but Mateo had just had a meltdown and it seemed like a good way to keep him calm." I refrain from adding that the moment actually helped to bring Michael's memories of camping to the surface because I suspect that will only worsen Rafael's mood. Unfortunately, his next comment makes it clear that there is no improving his mood regardless of what I say or don't say.

"Well, goody. Michael to the rescue yet again."

I stiffen at the embittered edge in his words and suddenly my earlier decision to avoid an argument is forgotten. "Mateo is really excited about going on this camping trip, Raf. Why are you being such a dick about it?"

"Maybe because I'm sick of this guy trying to insinuate his way into my family and take what's mine! It's been happening for years and I'm over it!"

He is so loud that his voice literally echoes within the confines of my near empty room. I immediately think of Mateo in the living room watching tv. "Would you keep your voice down?" I hiss, tensing in expectation for the rapid patter of my son's little feet. When that doesn't happen, I gingerly close my bedroom door (because I anticipate _way_ more yelling) and then whip to face Rafael again. "Excuse me? Since when are Mateo and I _possessions_ to you?"

Rafael has the grace, at least, to appear ashamed. "I didn't mean it that way," he grumbles.

"Then how did you mean it? Because you make it sound like you think Michael is trying to steal your toys or something!"

"Mateo is my son, Jane," he says as if that is statement enough, "And you are my fiancée, soon to be my wife. You are _my_ family, not his! He's always done this. He's always inserted himself where he doesn't belong!"

"No, he hasn't."

"Like hell he hasn't!"

"Listen, Michael knows that Mateo and I are your family, Raf. How can he not know it when you remind him every chance you get?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he knows it but, does he actually _respect_ it?"

I throw up my hands with a dramatic huff of pure exasperation. "Of course he does!"

"You've always had a blind spot when it comes to him," Rafael says, "You never can see when he's angling for you but I can see clearly. This is so typical of him! He's waiting for the right moment to swoop in and take you from me."

"That's ridiculous. Michael is not 'angling' for me. He's an amnesiac. He doesn't even remember being with me!"

"He wants you."

"That is not true," I deny softly, although in the most secret part of my heart I have begun to wonder lately if that could be true, "Michael is involved with someone else and he cares for her very much. He doesn't think of me that way."

"Do you think of _him_ that way?"

Now _that's_ a tricky question. This is the first time since we began our impassioned back and forth that I don't have a ready answer for him. It is much easier to speak for Michael's feelings than to speak for my own. Maybe because I recognize then that I will have to voice the truth out loud and I don't know if I'm ready to deal with the fallout from that.

Finally, I say to him, "I agreed to marry _you_ , Raf, not Michael."

"That's not what I'm asking you."

"That's the only thing that should matter!"

He blinks back the hurt that gathers in his eyes with my non-reply. Even if I don't say the words, I suspect that he knows what I feel and his next words confirm it. "Then I guess that's my answer. You still love him." The words sound as if they are being ripped from his chest, as if it had taken a monumental struggle for him to even voice them. "I suppose I always suspected it," he utters thickly, "but I didn't want it to be true."

"You knew this already, Raf," I remind him gently, "I told you that my feelings were complicated the second I knew he was back."

"But that was more than a month ago, Jane!" he retorts, "We're supposed to be moving into a new house tomorrow! You agreed to marry me and you're telling me that your feelings are _still_ 'complicated?'"

"He was my husband. I thought he died and I just found out that what he went through instead might have actually been _worse_ than death. Of course my feelings are still complicated!"

It's not my intention to hurt him but there is no possible way to avoid doing so. I want to honor my commitment to him but I can't lie. I _won't_ lie because that will just make everything worse. But it's so hard to hurt him. I watch with a sorrowful heart as he makes a valiant effort to compose himself.

"Well…if you feel that way, maybe we should call off the engagement until you can figure out what you want."

I'm surprised by how calm I remain in that moment because internally I am screaming. I've been so resolved not to break the engagement that I never for a moment considered that Rafael might do it instead. "Is that what _you_ want?" I ask him.

"What I want?" he scoffs, "You're asking what I want? How's this, Jane? I want _my_ fiancée not to be in love with another man!"

The acrimony in his words makes me flinch and saddens me as well, mostly because it doesn't sound or seem like the Rafael I know. He hasn't been this angry in a very long time and I regret that _I_ am the one bringing it out of him now. This situation hasn't been easy on me to be sure but it's also taking a heavy toll on Rafael as well. His self-confidence is being battered on a daily basis. I recognize then that being apart may be a kindness to him in the long run. We may need a break from each other as much for his sake as for mine.

"Then you're right," I consider tearfully, "Maybe we should call off the engagement for now."

But rather than leaving him satisfied, my concession seems to make him angrier instead. "So that's it? You want to end it? You're done with me?"

I blink at him incredulously, unable to fathom how this has come back around on me. "This was _your_ suggestion, Raf!"

"And you were only too eager to agree!" he flings back, "That's fine. We'll do that but Mateo comes with me. He's been talking nonstop about moving into our new house together and I, for one, am not going to disappoint him!"

"Of course you should still move into the house and Mateo can come to stay with you three times a week like always," I reply in as an accommodating tone as I can muster, "I'll stay here at Abuela's until I can figure something else out."

"No. I mean that Mateo should come to live with me _full-time_."

I cock my head closer as if I had misheard him. "I'm sorry, come again?"

"You heard me," he maintains stubbornly, "Mateo needs a stable family and home life. He needs someone who is willing to put his needs first."

My first instinct is to fly off the handle completely. After all, this is Rafael's primary mode of operations. Whenever I feel or want something that is out of line with his expectations, he uses Mateo like a dog whistle in order to bring me to heel. It is something I've always known about him and I've made allowances when it happens because I know how important family is to Rafael and how terrified he is of losing the stability we've created these last five years. He isn't doing it to be spiteful or controlling at all. His actions are motivated purely by fear.

However, at this particular moment, I'm not feeling very magnanimous towards him or his feelings because this isn't about him. It's about me and it's about Michael. I lost my husband and best friend and Michael lost his place in his own life. We are the ones who suffered in this situation. Rafael is only living with the fallout while _we_ bear the scars, emotional and physical. I know that he's hurt but the idea that Rafael should react as if he's somehow being victimized makes me want to throttle him.

"So what are you saying, Raf?" I challenge angrily, "You don't think I can provide Mateo with a stable home life? You don't think that I put him first?"

"Your first priority is and always has been Michael Cordero."

"What a load of crap," I retort, "You _do_ remember that Michael was kidnapped, tortured and had five years of his life stolen from him and that's likely because Sin Rostro aka your wicked stepmother wanted to stick it to you and used Michael to do it!"

"How can I forget when you never pass up an opportunity to remind me?"

I check the impulse to growl at him. "I don't understand why you're taking this personally or what it has to do with what kind of mother I am to Mateo! You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt our son and I want what's best for him!"

"Uprooting him with all of these changes isn't good for him, Jane," Rafael argues, "First we're moving in together and then we're not. Then we're getting married and then we're not! Mateo needs consistency."

"This isn't a consistent time in our lives, okay! I'm doing the best I can."

"Well, maybe that's not good enough," he sighs, "What do you think it's going to do to him when you run off to be with Michael again and right after we tell him that we won't be the family he wants?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not going to run off with Michael!"

Rafael's demeanor abruptly shifts from self-righteous belligerence to befuddlement. "Wait. You're not?"

"No. Why would I?"

"But you just told me you-,"

"—Yes, I still have feelings for him," I finish in a crisp tone, "I'm probably _always_ going to have feelings for him but that doesn't mean we're going to be together." As far as I know at that moment, that statement is true and so when I tell Rafael that Michael and I aren't going to be together, I am being completely honest. "We're friends. That's all we are."

He blinks at me sheepishly. "Oh."

"I've been telling you that for the last month but it seems like you're not hearing me."

"Do you blame me, Jane? When your fiancée tells you that she's in love with another guy, a guy she's already left you for multiple times, it doesn't exactly feel great, okay."

"I'm not your fiancée," I correct him in a starchy tone, "So we don't have any problem there."

He expels a humorless laugh. "Jane, come on."

"Also, don't you ever threaten to take Mateo from me again! I don't deserve that!"

"You know I didn't mean that. I was angry and I was jealous."

"That's right. You were. It's still no excuse."

He spreads out his hands to me in supplication. "Obviously I jumped to all the wrong conclusions," he soothes, "Can we start over please?"

"No. I think we've both said enough."

"Jane, don't do this," he cajoles, "It was a stupid fight. Let's put it behind us and move on."

I reach over to pull open the door to my bedroom, my expression stony with resignation. "Maybe you should go."

We are still locked in a silent battle of wills with Rafael refusing to go and me fully prepared to kick him out on his ass when my mother suddenly pops her head through my open door. She had agreed to meet me at Abuela's today to help me with the remainder of my packing but had gotten distracted from the work a long time ago. Up until this moment, I thought she had been taking a nap but when I glimpse her harried expression, I'm pretty sure she's gotten an earful this whole time while Rafael and I argued. Her next words confirm my suspicions.

"If you two are finished yelling at each other, I thought you'd want to know that Michael is here to take Mateo now."

"Great!" Rafael snaps, "Michael's here. Let's go say hello."

" _I'll_ say hello to him. I believe _you_ were leaving!"

Mom wisely decides to excuse herself at that point. "I'll let him know you're on your way."

We both manage a façade of civility before we step out into Abuela's living room, which is a feat for me considering the fact I am fuming over Rafael's refusal to leave the house. Michael and Mateo are in the middle of loudly hyping themselves up when we arrive. I can't help but smile a little at the adorable picture they make right then. It feels like a snapshot of the future we would have had together…the future we _should have_ had.

"Are you ready to go camping?" Michael asks Mateo in a playful growl.

"I'm ready to go camping," Mateo growls back, "Are you ready to go camping?"

"So ready to go camping! How ready to go camping, are you?"

"So ready to go-,"

"—Okay, okay!" Rafael bites out in sharp irritation, bringing an abrupt halt to their game, "We get it. You're excited to go camping."

Michael immediately straightens then, all playfulness vanished from his amiable features when he sees Rafael. They exchange tight smiles of greeting but Mateo, thankfully, remains relatively oblivious to the tension. I, however, am extremely aware and I have to check the impulse to get the hell out of there. It's suddenly like wild kingdom in my Abuela's living room and the predatory males are squaring off for territory. I wonder vaguely if that "territory" is me and Mateo.

"Sorry, Daddy," Mateo says brightly, "That's just a game Michael and me play. We didn't mean to be so loud."

"Well, you're excited, buddy," Rafael concedes with a tender smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "It's okay to be loud."

His neutral reply does little to diffuse the crackling disharmony in the room. So I'm not at all surprised when Michael tries to rush Mateo out of there. "You got all your gear together, bud?" he asks, already inspecting Mateo's pack, "We really need to get a move on."

"That six weeks of yours is winding down pretty quick, isn't it?" Rafael observes as Michael helps Mateo gather his gear, "You'll be heading back to Houston soon, right?"

Michael spares him a cursory glance. "I'm actually thinking about staying longer. Got a job and everything."

I wisely bite back my smile at the admission, which is a good thing because Rafael scowls darkly. "Why am I not surprised?" he mutters.

"Well, my family does live here so…"

"But your girlfriend lives in Texas," Rafael reminds him, "Or have you forgotten all about her?"

I snap out his name in frosty reprimand but attempt to cover my anger with an artificial smile for Mateo's sake. "Rafael, don't be rude. Michael's girlfriend is none of our business."

Mateo, however, doesn't agree with that statement. Completely ignoring everything I just said to his father, he whips around to face Michael with a gleeful giggle. "You have a girlfriend?"

"She's my _friend_ ," Michael emphasizes, "Not my girlfriend." I don't know if I imagine it or if he actually _does_ glance surreptitiously in my direction when he says that.

"What's her name?" Mateo wants to know.

"Lorena."

"Do you have a picture of her? I want to see!"

Michael gamely pulls out his cellphone and scrolls through the gallery for the requested photo. When he finds what he wants, he stoops down to show Mateo. "This is Lorena."

I watch Mateo's reaction, noting the enamored flare of his eyes. "Wow! She's so pretty."

"Yeah," Michael sighs in agreement, "She is really pretty."

I'm still struggling to decide how the softness in his tone makes me feels and whether I like it or not when Mateo exclaims, "She looks like you, Mommy!"

Michael glances back at his phone with a surprised frown. "Does she? I never noticed before."

"And somehow the resemblance doesn't surprise me either," Rafael interjects dryly, "You've always been preoccupied with all things Jane, haven't you, Michael? I guess not even losing your memory can change that."

"Maybe you two should get a move on," I urge, wanting them to get out of there before the atmosphere deteriorates further.

That's all the incentive Mateo needs. "Okay, Mommy! Bye!" He waves and then grabs hold of Michael's hand. "See you later. I hope you have fun with Daddy even though I wish you were going camping with us."

At that precise moment, so do I. The instant the idea occurs to me I'm acting on it. I call out for Michael and Mateo to wait just as they start to step out the door. Michael turns back to regard me with an expectant expression. "Did we forget something?"

"Yes. Me," I reply impulsively, "I've decided to come with you after all."

"Yay!" "You're going to _what_?" Mateo and Michael burst out simultaneously.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rafael follows up with barely contained annoyance, "You're being ridiculous right now."

"Weren't you leaving?" I snark before glancing back at Michael. "Just give me a few minutes to get packed."

Michael grimaces and I can tell by his expression that he senses the coming cataclysm and doesn't want any part of it. "I don't understand. Why are you coming with us? I thought you hated camping."

"It's the perfect opportunity for me to spend some quality time with two of my most favorite people in the world," I reply breezily, "I think it'll be fun."

Rafael emits a scornful snort which prompts Michael to dart a wary look over at him and then back to me. The unrestrained antagonism between me and Rafael is almost tangible thing. It's practically combustible. A person would have to be completely oblivious not to sense it and the one thing Michael Cordero has never been is oblivious. Memory loss hasn't dulled his instincts at all. Clearly, he knows that disaster is looming.

Despite that, he surprises me by saying, "Well, if you're sure you want to…"

I glare at Rafael coldly as I reply, "I'm positive."

As I turn to leave the room, however, Rafael calls to my back, "You know what, Jane?" I stop in my tracks and pivot to face him with a bored expression. "I think you have the right idea. I'd like to spend some quality time with my two most favorite people too."

Michael is alerted to the impending train wreck almost instantly. "Wait. What's happening?" he asks, his voice cracking with panic, "What are you doing, Solano?"

Rafael's mouth curls in a feline smile. "Let's make it a foursome. I'd like to get in on this little camping trip too. Like Jane said…it will be fun."

The last thing I hear before the blood begins pounding in my ears is Mateo's excited shouts of, "Hooray!"


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven (Michael POV)**

 _This is seriously going to suck._

That had been my first thought when both Jane and Rafael volunteered to tag along on my and Mateo's camping trip and that is my thought presently as I listen to them engage in yet another round of pre-marital bickering. To their credit, their fighting mostly happens behind a veneer of polite, toothy smiles. They deliver their barbs and accusations with saccharine sweetness for Mateo's sake but I'm not at all insensible to the tension between them even if I don't know the details about _why_ they're fighting. Clearly there is trouble in Paradise and, quite frankly, I don't want to be in the middle of it.

My plans for the weekend had been really simple. All I'd wanted was spend two days bonding with Mateo. We were going to relax by the lake, go swimming, fish, walk the trails, roast marshmallows over the campfire and whatever else popped into our heads. I had been looking forward to it for two reasons. The first reason is that I liked hanging out with Mateo. He was spunky, opinionated and a general hoot to be around. For some inexplicable reason, the kid made me happy and when I was with him I spent less time dwelling on myself and my messy life. With everything going on right now, it is a welcome change of pace.

The second reason I had been looking forward to our camping trip correlates with the first reason. I needed to get out of my own head for a little while. So far…it's not going too well.

Therapy with Dr. Alan Beavers is proving to be both a blessing and a curse. In the last week I had experienced a series of breakthroughs with my memory, both good and bad. I can now recall the details of my childhood. I can remember exactly how it felt when my parents, brother and I were a family and also how it felt when we weren't anymore. My complicated relationship with my brother is no longer a vague reference point for me. Now I understand the details as to why Billy and I have such a contentious relationship, _now_ the fact that he hasn't contacted me at all actually disappoints me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised by his apathy since, according to my parents, he hasn't called, written or even been _seen_ since before I "died."

Whereas before Billy's absence had been a fact I knew and accepted and had given little thought to, now I find myself worrying about where the hell he is and what the hell he's doing. I'm angry with him for being MIA and I still don't approve of his life choices but I also miss him. I regret the bitterness between us. I miss the way we used to be before our parents' divorce, before his drug abuse, before I became a cop and he became a career criminal. It's all mixed up in my head now and, to make matters worse, Billy isn't the only person I have conflicted feelings about either.

Before my memories had begun to resurface, I had been grateful to Michael Cordero and very appreciative of his support. Between him and Patricia, he had been the one I'd gravitated towards the most because I found it easier to talk to him. I had always felt comfortable in his presence which made it ridiculously easy for me to like him and even trust him. But now those feelings are muddied with memories of the countless times he'd made my mother cry and when he broke up our family because of his selfish infidelity. I find myself struggling with the resentment and anger I felt towards him (and still feel). Now, the unease and discomfort I had initially felt around my mother has been replaced with protectiveness and deep respect.

I'm almost grateful that my memories of Jane still remain a bit fuzzy. There are a few, random flashes I have from our past together but nothing as concrete as what I've experienced with my parents. According to Dr. Beavers, that is likely because my childhood memories are more deeply ingrained in my psyche because they've been with me longer. My memories with Jane are newer, fresher and, therefore, are not quite as imprinted. However, Dr. Beavers seems confident that my memories of Jane will become equally clear with more therapy. Again, I can't say that I'm eager for that to happen. I having a hard enough time managing my feelings for her now, without the past to influence me. What happens when it's back, wild, free and in living color?

At this point, all I can feel is anxiety at the possible damage it could cause to my fragile relationship with Jane and Mateo. In less than two months, I have come to value her friendship immensely. I'm growing more and more attached to her family with each passing day. And Mateo. I think I love Mateo. The prospect of losing all of that, particularly the bond I'm building with Jane's son, terrifies me.

There's no denying that I care about that little boy like he's my own. I feel very protective of him. I can clearly remember changing him, rocking him, feeding him…the day he started cruising, his first real words, the blossoming of that charming personality that is on full display now. I remember his adorable baby giggle, the way he used to scramble through the house like he was on a mission, nights when he would stand up in his crib and watch me patiently because he _knew_ I was on my way to get him…

I look at him now and it strikes me just how much I've missed…all of the birthdays and swim lessons and skinned knees. Lost teeth and playdates…the first day of kindergarten. So many milestones that I didn't have a chance to witness. All of that is past now and I wasn't a part of any of it. I feel the loss. It literally hurts my heart.

And so, I want to make it up to him somehow. I want to spend as much time with him as I possibly can. I want to watch him grow up and take part in shaping his young manhood. There's only one caveat to it all of those grand plans of mine…he's _not_ my son. Technically, he's not even my _stepson_ anymore. On paper, I really have no place in his life whatsoever. And yet I'm emotionally invested in this kid like I've never been invested in anything.

Thankfully, Jane seems amenable to us spending time together and freely encourages the relationship between us but I am painfully aware of how tenuous an arrangement that is. At any moment, she or Rafael could decide they don't want me in Mateo's life after all and that would be that. I'm hoping like crazy that doesn't happen because Mateo is probably the only thing in my life that makes sense.

It's not that I expected this journey to be easy. I knew when I made the decision to delve into my past that I was going to uncover things that were painful and difficult to grasp. I knew that I was going to finally see glimpses into that five years of captivity and I had thought, mistakenly, that I had prepared myself for those glimpses. But I had been wrong. Very, very wrong. There was very little I could have done that would have prepared me for what lay head.

I rarely sleep anymore these days due to the nightmares. Every night they are always the same. I am in a room with three walls made of solid concrete and one made of iron bars. There are no windows to let in the sunlight and I am chained to a filthy cot, the only piece of furniture in the small cell. In my dream, I scream and scream and scream at the top of my lungs but no one ever hears me. I have the sense that I've been there for a while. There is a desperation I feel, a hopelessness that leaves my entire body aching.

Yet, in spite of that, in the dream I am screaming for help, praying that someone will hear me. I am still screaming when I wake up, drenched in sweat. Those first, few seconds are always disorienting because I don't know where I am and I'm terrified that I'm back in that cell again, shackled to that small, dirty cot like an animal.

Dr. Beavers assures me that these latest night terrors are a good thing and that it means that my broken psyche is starting to recover. He seems confident that, as I get stronger, I will begin to remember more and more details surrounding my captivity. But what fills him with excitement leaves me unable to sleep, unable to think and unable to talk to anyone about what I'm feeling.

Lorena isn't an option. Even if I could put into words the despair and confusion that plagues me, it's not fair to keep running to her for emotional support…not when what she feared all along is coming true. I _am_ falling in love with my ex-wife after all. It isn't what I want and I wish to God that I could stop it but the feelings have taken on a life of their own.

And, despite being so drawn to her, I can't talk to Jane either. I want to. The inclination is strong but so is the attraction that I feel for her. I think about her at night when I can't sleep. I lie awake wanting her.

Even though I've done my best to put up a wall, to keep a respectable distance between us, hell, to push her at Rafael by outright rejecting her, somehow I keep gravitating closer…and so does she. That's a problem, not only because exploring these escalating feelings between us would be way too messy given the circumstances but also because Mateo will most certainly get hurt. I can't have that at all.

Were circumstances different, if Mateo weren't a factor at all, I might try to discover what Jane and I could have together. After all, it's a pretty incredible thing that, even without my memory, there is something about her that still draws me. Either she is one amazing woman or somehow, someway, I'm still the man I was before I disappeared. Perhaps it's a mixture of both things. Whatever the case, it's impossible to ignore the connection between us but I know I can't let it grow beyond friendship. The little boy crouched beside me is all the reason I need.

My thoughts remain scattered as Mateo and I work together to erect the tent. We are currently in the process of staking the pins when Mateo suddenly mumbles, "I think my Mommy and Daddy are fighting."

I glance over to where Jane and Rafael continue their dispute with each other on the very parameter of our camp and then back at him, startled by the observation. Until that very second, I would have sworn he was oblivious. The kid is more perceptive than I gave him credit for. Still, I decide to test him out a little.

"Why do you think they're fighting?"

He observes them from the corner of his eye. "Mommy has on her angry face. Believe me, I know that face better than anyone."

"Oh. Okay."

"They fight a lot now," he confesses in a suffocated, little voice, "I'm scared they might not want to be together anymore."

"Mateo, that's a big jump. Just because your parents are fighting that doesn't mean they're going to break up."

"My friend Alonso's parents used to fight all the time and they got a divorce," he reasons, "What if my Mommy and Daddy get a divorce too?"

I refrain from pointing out to him that Jane and Rafael would have to be married first for that to happen. It seems rather inconsequential under the circumstances. Instead, I try to reassure him. "I understand why you're worried. My parents used to fight a lot too before they got divorced but I don't think that your parents fighting means the same thing. They are going through a very stressful time right now."

Mateo blinks up at me owlishly. "Why are they having a stressful time?"

"Well…I think that might be _my_ fault, Mateo," I confess, "It's been very hard for your mom and dad since I came back."

"You mean because Mommy used to be married to you?"

"Yeah."

"And because she loves you?"

My response doesn't come quite as readily as the first time but I force myself to answer him truthfully. "Yeah."

"Do you love her back?"

Again I hesitate but I decide to be honest with him. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Mateo appears to mull over everything I've told him. Finally, he says, "Mommy cried a lot for you when she thought you were dead. I hated when she was sad. Now that you're back, she's really happy again."

"That's good. I'm glad."

"But my Daddy makes her happy too and she makes him happy," Mateo argues further, "I want them to get married so we can be a family like we're supposed to be."

"And you think that might not happen because your mom still loves me," I surmise quietly, easily discerning what he had left unspoken, "Am I right?"

"I don't want to hurt your feelings!" he rushes to reassure me.

"But you don't want me to be with your mother either," I finish for him. After he confirms that with a timid nod, I tell him, "Mateo, you have nothing to worry about. Your mom and I are friends. That's all."

"Oh. So you don't want to be married to her anymore?"

"No. She's just my good friend and friends can love each other and they can care about each other but that doesn't necessarily mean they're going to be together," I explain gently, "Does that make sense?"

"I think so."

"Good."

I am thankfully spared from having to say more when Rafael suddenly comes ducking over, his face plastered with an over-bright smile. Jane hovers a few feet behind him, her arms crossed defensively. I am trying to read the inscrutable expression on her face when Rafael says, "Wow, you guys already have the tent up. You're really fast."

"Actually, it took us almost twenty minutes," I correct him wryly as I rise from my crouched position, "You and Jane have been a little too preoccupied to notice."

"Right." Both he and Jane duck their heads in mortification but Rafael is the quicker of the two to recover. "So what else can we do to help? Mateo, tell me how this camping thing is done!"

Rather than answer, Mateo looks at me for confirmation. After all, he hasn't had many camping trips in his past and he's still learning. "Why don't you three dig through the cooler for the meat and some drinks," I suggest, "You can get everything set up for dinner tonight while I go gather the wood for the fire."

"I'll go with you!" Jane volunteers as soon as I start to step away.

I fix her with a penetrating look before shaking my head. "No. Stay here with your son and _fiancé_ ," I emphasize purposely, "I'll be back soon."

Ten minutes later, I'm in the center of a thick copse of trees, collecting the fallen branches that I find there when I hear a rustling. When I turn towards the sound, I'm hardly surprised to find Jane standing there. I expel a deep, long-suffering sigh. "I told you to stay behind. Don't you ever listen?"

"He's not my fiancé."

I squint at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You told me to stay behind with my son and _fiancé_ and Rafael is _not_ my fiancé…not anymore."

Skeptical, I nod towards the gleaming stone that still adorns her finger. "You're still wearing his ring."

She appears nonplussed for a moment. Finally, she takes off the ring, stuffs it in the pocket of her shorts and stammers, "It…it just happened. I'm going to give him back the ring."

Having gotten my answer, I return to my earlier task of gathering wood. "I'm assuming that _he's_ the one who ended things then, not _you_."

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it does," I reply, a little more harshly than I intend, "because it speaks to what you want, Jane."

"Actually, it doesn't," she sighs, her voice sounding closer than before, "I don't know what I want these days, Michael. The only thing I'm really sure of is how I feel about you."

I straighten to face her at that point and realize she's standing less than two feet away from me. Whatever I mean to say to her in that startled moment is forgotten when we come face to face and I am suddenly overwhelmed by the image of her in a yellow dress and a flower in her hair. I stumble back as the memory comes rushing at me.

 _"…_ _And right now, I'm confused about every single thing in my life…except you."_

I regard Jane with what I'm sure is a dazed expression. "We've had this conversation before."

"What conversation?"

"I was at work and you came to see me," I recount a little breathlessly, "You were wearing this bright yellow dress and high heels. Your hair was swept back from your face and you were wearing a flower…" I reach out to lightly brush her temple with my fingertips, "…here."

"That's right. I came to talk to you about my decision to keep the baby but I didn't want to lose you in the process," she tells me, "I was so scared I might lose you."

I bob a nod as the details become clearer to me. "You told me that you were going to give the baby to Rafael and Petra…"

"…Yes…"

"…and then you told me that I was the only thing in your life that you were sure about and all the reasons that you did and didn't love me. You told me that you wanted to grow old with me and that I was your best friend."

She smiles at me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "All of that still feels true."

As soon as she says the words my guard immediately goes up. "Jane, don't. We had an agreement. Remember?"

"But that agreement shouldn't matter now. I told you that Rafael and I are over. There's no reason for us not to explore what's happening between us."

I let myself go there for a millisecond before I shake my head in refusal. "That's not what I want."

For a moment, she looks defeated, dejected and I feel overwhelmed with guilt. But then her shoulders stiffen and her features harden with resolve and I know that she's not done with me yet. "I don't believe you," she declares fiercely, "Something has changed between us, Michael. I know it. I _feel_ it. I can tell by the way you look at me."

Rather than go on the defensive with denials, I decide to take an offensive approach. I roll my eyes at her and smirk at her humorlessly. "So what if it has? I am not remotely interested in being your rebound, Jane."

"You have _never_ been my rebound."

"Can you honestly stand there and tell me that you don't have feelings for him?" Her eyes drop in skittish reply. I grunt in response. "'Nuff said, I guess."

"No, it is _not_ enough!" she cries, dogging my heels as I resume gathering wood, "You want me, Michael, and I want you too! For God's sake, we were married! We took vows to love each other until death! That means something! It still means something to me!"

"I already told you that I don't feel the way you do!" I flare.

"And I already told you that I don't believe you!" she flares back, "So I guess we're at an impasse!"

I whip around to face her again, forgetting the branches. "We don't have to be. You can marry Solano just like you planned."

"What about us?"

"There is no us, Jane!" I burst out sharply, scaring both myself and her with my vehemence. After a few deep breaths, I feel more composed and I try again. "I…I really care about you and I value our friendship so much but…" and it's difficult to gear myself up for the coming lie but I force myself to do it regardless, "…I'm not in love with you. I'm starting to remember what it _felt_ like to be in love with you but that's not the way I feel now." Seeing the devastation on her face makes me feel sick inside but I stand my ground. "You should patch things up with Rafael."

She shakes her head at the suggestion and then averts her face to conceal the tears that are beginning to fall down her cheeks. "No," she says in a gruff tone, "That's not going to work. I can't go back to Rafael like nothing ever happened. Regardless of how you feel, Michael, _my_ feelings haven't changed. I'm still in love with you."

Now I'm the one who has to turn away from her because hearing her say the words so plainly, so without reserve is like being kicked in the gut. "God, don't tell me that, Jane!"

"Why should it matter if you don't feel the same?" I stiffen at the question and the unspoken challenge that lay beneath it but say nothing in response. It turns out I don't have to say a word. Jane, as always, can read me like an open book. "You are such a terrible liar," she accuses me softly, "You do. You _do_ love me, Michael! Oh God, I almost believed you a second ago!"

I stumble back a step as she advances on me. "No! No," I protest a little wildly, "You're just seeing what you want to see!"

"Nope. I'm not falling for it again. I can see right through you, Michael Cordero, _the most horrible liar who has ever lived!_ You love me. Why can't you say it? Say the words. Say you love me."

"I can't!"

"Why?"

"Because it will ruin everything!"

She stops short and regards me with a curious cock of her head. "Since when did you become so melodramatic?"

"Since I realized that we're not the only ones who will be impacted here." While nothing else I've said to her thus far has managed to dissuade her, this time she is shaken into immobility. "We need to think about how us being together will affect Mateo and Lorena…and Rafael. We can't just be together and not think about the consequences."

I'm surprised when she actually takes a moment to consider my words. "Okay. I see your point but how are we doing Lorena and Rafael any favors by pretending we don't have feelings for each other?"

"How are we doing _ourselves_ any favors by being together when we haven't resolved our feelings for other people?"

I can tell that I've struck a nerve with that argument. She flails around verbally in search of an appropriate response. Finally, when she speaks again, I know it's because she's figured out a way to reason her way around my point. "Of course my relationship with Rafael is complicated," she acknowledges, "He's one of my best friends, the father of my child. We've had an off and on relationship for more than half a decade."

"Exactly! He's always going to be in your life, Jane, and he should be. I get that but I don't think I could live with that. Maybe I was okay with it before but not now, not with everything going on with me."

Her brows snap together in a frown, her uncertainty suddenly replaced with concern. "Why? What's going on with you, Michael? Has something happened?"

I suppress a self-deprecating groan and make a feeble attempt to backpedal. "Nothing's wrong," I brazen, "I was speaking in general."

"You really _are_ a terrible liar. Tell me what's wrong."

Rather than argue, I set aside my armful of branches and sink down onto the mossy surface of a fallen tree limb. I wipe my damp palms against my shorts before I begin. "I'm starting to have dreams about where I was after I was kidnapped."

Jane eases down beside me. "What kind of dreams?" she asks in a shaky tone.

"I'm in a cell," I recount and, as I do, I'm no longer seated there with her but back in that horrible prison. "It's very small, barely enough room for me and a tiny bed. It's dark and dank. There are no windows, no ventilation of any kind so it's hot and there's a musty smell that hangs in the air all the time. Everything is filthy. The cell. The bed. _Me_. And I want out of there so badly. I _need_ to get out of there because I want to get back to you and Mateo and my family but no matter how much I scream for help, no one ever comes for me."

"Oh my God, Michael…"

"I don't know if it's real but it feels real. It feels terrifying."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispers mournfully, "If I had known I would have…"

"You would have what?" I challenge in a wry tone, "Given me space? Badgered me less?"

She bites back a smile. "Maybe." When she reaches over to take my hand into her own I don't resist her efforts. In fact, I gratefully intertwine my fingers with hers. "Please don't keep shutting me out. I want to help you. Let me help you."

"I want to. I really want to, Jane, but I feel like that's begging for trouble."

I'm so distracted by the gentle circles she's rubbing against my hand with the pad of her thumb that I completely miss her next words to me. She has to repeat them. "I said, if you can figure out how you feel about Lorena and I can figure out my feelings for Rafael, what comes next for us?"

"There's still Mateo, Jane," I argue, "We have to think about him."

"I know."

I trace the ridge of her knuckles with my index finger. "Maybe…maybe we're better off as friends."

But as I look down at our linked fingers and feel those familiar flutters of longing unfurl in my belly, I have a very difficult time believing that. When I look at Jane again, I can see that she's having a hard time believing it too. I'm thinking I might have to give into the impulse to kiss her when Mateo and Rafael suddenly emerge from the trees and startle us apart. I can tell by Rafael's expression that we didn't separate soon enough.

"I thought you were supposed to be collecting firewood," he observes.

"We were," I reply lightly, stooping to retrieve my bundle of branches, "Got sidetracked is all."

"Does that mean we can make S'mores now?" Mateo pipes excitedly.

"You bet, buddy!" I exclaim, deliberately ignoring the glare Rafael currently has leveled at me, "Come on! Let's hurry back to camp so we can get started!"

As I quickly usher him back through the trees, I can feel the intensity of both Jane and Rafael's gazes burning into my back.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve (Jane POV)**

"…and I really thought he was going to kiss me, Ma!"

I dart a sideways glance over at my mother and, almost immediately, I feel guilty for talking her ear off the last fifteen minutes about Michael. She has her head pressed back against the headrest of the passenger seat. Her eyes are closed but she doesn't appear to be sleeping. Instead, she looks like she's trying very hard not to be ill.

Following her chemotherapy infusion, I had asked her if she was feeling nauseated but she had denied it. According to Mom, she didn't usually feel sick on the day of her infusion. It was the several days that followed that she constantly battled with dry heaves. Now I feel guilty with the thought that she's been feeling horrible this entire time and all I've been doing is rambling about Michael.

"Do you need me to pull over?" I ask solicitously, "You don't look too hot."

Although she doesn't open her eyes, Mom says, "No, I'm okay…just a little dizzy today." I suppose when she senses that I'm still looking at her in concern, she decides to finally open her eyes and favors me with a wan smile. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like you expect me to drop dead at any second! It's creepy!"

"I'm sorry! You look really bad."

"Well, I have cancer! Plus, I just had poison pumped into me over the last hour and a half. I should look like walking death, which I'm sure I do!"

"Ma…"

"Please don't make it a big deal. I'm okay. Keep talking. I need the distraction."

I'm not so easily deterred. "Maybe you should take your anti-nausea medicine."

"No. Remember they gave me a big dose with my infusion today. I can't take more until bedtime."

I recall the instructions given to us from Mom's nurse prior to leaving the infusion suite. Mom has two different prescriptions for nausea and one medication meant to serve as a backup for the other in the event her nausea isn't well controlled. "What about the other one? Can't you take that one?"

"I don't like that one. It makes me too sleepy." I'm about to argue when she gives me an exasperated look. "For goodness' sake, I told you I'm fine! I don't want to talk about anti-nausea medicine. Tell me more about why you think Michael was going to kiss you." When I continue to hesitate, she reaches across the gear shift to give my shoulder a brief but reassuring squeeze. "Please, Janie, let me do this for you. I feel like I can't do too much now that I'm sick but the one thing I can still do is listen. So talk to me."

After a few seconds more of internal vacillation, I finally acquiesce but mostly because I need to talk about it like she needs to listen. "Okay, so…it was right after he told me about the nightmares he's been having," I recount softly, "We were in the middle of the woods, sitting there together, holding hands and-,"

"-Wait a minute…you were holding hands?"

"Platonically, Ma! Can you please focus?"

"Right. Platonic handholding my ass."

" _Anyway_ ," I persist in a deliberate tone, "I was sitting there with him and it felt like…"

"Like what?" Mom prompts when I drift off into silence.

"Like coming home. It felt good. Familiar. Safe in a way I haven't felt since before he left."

"Oh, Jane…"

"I guess I'm not really sure if he was going to kiss me or not," I consider in hindsight recollection, "He _had_ just finished telling me he thought we were better off as friends and he does seem rather adamant about that. But I _felt_ like he wanted to and I had wanted him to so there's that."

Yes, there is that. The remainder of that camping trip had been an utter fiasco. Michael busied himself with every task imaginable for the sole purpose of avoiding me. In turn, I also did everything in my power to avoid Rafael, which proved to be unnecessary since, after I returned his ring, he also went out of his way to avoid me and Michael. Poor Mateo was stuck in the middle the entire time, being pulled in multiple directions by multiple people whenever any of us grew desperate enough to use him as a buffer. Michael ended up cutting the trip short because the levels of tension became too ridiculous to bear. Since that day, I've only spoken to him a handful of times and even then we've mostly stayed on neutral topics, namely Mateo.

As a result, there is much that remains unsaid between us. On the one hand, I understand Michael's hesitancy to explore our feelings for each other and even agree with him to some extent. The fallout would be monumental. Furthermore, the trail of broken hearts we would very likely leave in our wake is not something I relish thinking about.

But, on the other hand, I can't imagine denying what I feel for Michael for the rest of my life simply because it would unsettle Mateo's vision of family or even break a few hearts. I don't want to hurt my son and I don't want to hurt Rafael but I also can't pretend I don't want Michael. I'm stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place and it sucks. Quite simply, Michael and I need to talk about it and decide, realistically, how we should proceed. I was thinking about forcing the issue but that plan was put on hold when Rafael came by to pick Mateo up for his weekly sleepover.

That first encounter between us following the camping trip had been painfully awkward. We had stood in the middle of my Abuela's living room like two strangers meeting for the first time rather than two people who shared a child and years of history as we tried to make small talk. It hadn't been pretty. Not in the least. I spent the entire time mentally willing Mateo to come out from the back so that the agony could end. Those few minutes seemed to go on for hours.

 _"_ _He's still packing his bag. He shouldn't be much longer."_

 _"_ _Right." He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, unable to make eye contact. I stare down at my bare toes and the pearly pink polish that adorns my nails. The silence feels unbearable. I would gladly welcome a yawning hellmouth to gulp me down whole right then if it meant I could be put out of my misery. When I think I can't stand another second, he finally asks, "How's work?"_

 _"_ _It's work. Busy."_

 _"_ _Still picking up shifts at the Marbella?"_

 _"_ _Only when I need to."_

 _"_ _Petra mentioned that she hasn't seen much of you lately. So much for Saturday brunch, huh?"_

 _"_ _You know how it is. Life gets in the way…for both of us."_

 _Another discomfiting beat of silence ensues before he asks, "So…how is Michael?"_

 _"_ _He's good. He's really good. Therapy is going well. He…uh…he decided to move back in with his mother until he can figure out what he wants to do next."_

 _His eyes flare wide at the revelation. "Wow. So he's living in Fort Myers now?"_

 _"_ _Yes. For the last week."_

 _"_ _What about the two of you? How is that going to work with him in Fort Myers and you in Miami?"_

 _"_ _Michael and I are friends, Raf. That's all."_

 _"_ _So you've told me before but I saw you that day in the woods, Jane. You didn't look like friends."_

 _"_ _We're friends who share history. That's what you saw."_

 _"_ _Is that what you and I are now? 'Friends who share history?'"_

 _"_ _I don't know what we are, Raf."_

 _"_ _Yeah…that makes two of us."_

It wasn't the greatest start but our subsequent conversations since that day have gotten progressively easier. Gradually the awkwardness began to dissolve and, eventually, we reached a point where we could joke with one another again. It almost began to feel like old times between us and I have to admit that I've missed that. I have missed Rafael's friendship so much. Our effortless teasing eventually became banter and that banter has now become the easy companionship that we have shared for more than seven years. Somehow we've ended up full circle.

Which is why I guess that this morning, right before I left to take my mother to her chemotherapy appointment, Rafael had asked me on a date. Naturally, I completely panicked and went on a rambling rant about why a date wouldn't be appropriate or advised. Of course, he'd smoothly covered by emphasizing the "date" would be a "family dinner" with Mateo instead. He'd then fortified his argument with the reminder that it had been quite awhile since our last family dinner and we owed it to Mateo to provide him with some sense of consistency. I hadn't given him an answer before Mom and I left and I still don't have an answer for him now.

"So…" Mom drawls, interrupting the thoughts tumbling through my mind right then, "…what are you going to do?"

I survey her with a blank look. "You mean about Michael?"

"I mean about Rafael," she clarifies, "Have you decided whether or not you're going to accept his invitation to dinner?"

"I don't know, Mom," I sigh mournfully, "It's not we haven't gone out to dinner with Mateo dozens of times before but this time feels different."

"How so?"

"I can't be sure what Rafael's motives are for making the offer and I can't be sure of my own motives if I accept."

Mom takes a moment to process my explanation before she speaks. "Okay. Let's take the first part of that," she says, "You think Raf invited you to dinner because he wants you back."

"I _know_ he did. And he's using Mateo to do it. He knows we'll always have a connection because we have a child together and he uses that to his advantage."

"Can you blame him?" Mom asks, "He loves you, Jane, and now you're all conflicted over another man. He was going to propose, remember? It makes sense that he would want you back."

"Well, he's the one who ended the engagement," I mutter, "And, in the end, it was the best thing to do because he was right. He's been right this whole time. I still have feelings for Michael and I can't be with him as long as I do."

"Which brings me around to the second part," Mom interjects, "Are you thinking of saying yes to dinner with Rafael because Michael is in Houston visiting his girlfriend right now?"

"She's not his girlfriend!" I snap more sharply than I intend.

Mom isn't the least bit ruffled by my outburst, however. She has become strangely Zen since her cancer diagnosis and very little seems to faze her these days. I suppose when you find yourself staring into the gaping jaws of death you learn not to sweat the small stuff. I admire her resilience even as it aggravates me because she continues on with her argument as if I hadn't said a word.

"You said that he's in love with her, right?"

"That's what he _thinks_."

"Regardless, if that's how Michael says he feels about her then she's his girlfriend, Jane."

"If that's the case then I'm his girlfriend too," I retort carelessly.

Mom frowns at me, clearly appalled by my unapologetic candor. "Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?" she asks, "Since when have you _ever_ considered going after a man in a relationship? When I was dating Bruce you never let me hear the end of it."

I wave that argument away like I'm swatting a pesky insect. "Bruce was married, Ma. Michael is not! Actually, he's not even in a relationship with her so it's hardly the same thing!"

"Just because you choose not to acknowledge it that doesn't make it less true, Jane."

I really, _really_ hate when my mother is reasonable, especially because there had once been a time where "reasonable" and Xiomara Villanueva didn't even belong in the same sentence. Damn cancer! I hate the fact that she's right even more. Until very recently, Lorena Diaz had been a non-entity for me. While I was well aware that Michael kept in close and frequent contact with her it had been easy to put her out of my mind because she was several states away. There was more than a 1000 miles between them. What possible threat could she serve? I had maintained that confidence until Michael informed me of his intention to fly back to Houston to "get his affairs in order." And, since that day, I've been trapped in a whirlwind of panic.

He left three days ago. In the past 72 hours I've spoken to him a grand total of two times. Both of those times he spent the bulk of our conversation talking with my son. His reticent demeanor was beginning to make me crazy so I decided to confront him about it during our second phone call.

 _"_ _Are you mad at me?"_

 _"_ _You know that I'm not."_

 _"_ _I don't know anything. You won't talk to me."_

 _"_ _I'm trying to give you space."_

 _"_ _I didn't ask for space."_

 _"_ _Okay, maybe I'm the one who needs space then. I can't think when I'm around you, Jane."_

 _"_ _What's wrong with that? Maybe if you listened to your heart for a change we wouldn't be having this conversation. I thought you were a fighter, Michael."_

 _"_ _I am but not everything is worth fighting for, Jane."_

 _"_ _Are you honestly going to tell me that you don't think we're worth fighting for?"_

 _"_ _I really can't do this with you right now. I gotta go."_

He is beginning to seriously frustrate the hell out of me. I get that he's overwhelmed and that he doesn't want to upset Mateo's world (probably because he knows exactly how that feels) but, eventually he has to realize that he's not doing me or himself any favors. We've already lost so much time together, years of birthdays, anniversaries and chances to make babies together. I don't want to waste another second being apart, I don't care how honorable the reason.

"Maybe you should accept Raf's invitation to dinner."

I don't realize how long I've been sitting there silently stewing in my thoughts until Mom makes her outlandish suggestion. I look at her as if she just sprouted horns. "Have you lost your mind? I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Have you not been listening to me for the last half hour?"

"Actually, I have," she replies serenely, "which is exactly why I think you should go. It might help to put things into perspective."

"What perspective?"

"That you and Michael might actually be over this time."

Although her tone is tentative and gentle the words impact me like a physical blow and I actually flinch. "That is not true," I deny thickly, "Why would you say that? Why would you ever say that to me?"

"Sweetie, he's with another woman!"

"I thought he _died_ , Mom! Don't you get how huge that is? I never thought that I would see him again. And now he's back and I can talk to him. I can touch him. I'm not giving that up. Not again. Not ever."

"Maybe it's not for you to decide."

"I don't believe that. Michael loves me."

"Has he told you that?"

"Not in so many words but-,"

"—Since when has Michael Cordero _ever_ hesitated to tell you he loves you, Jane?" she interjects softly, "That's not who he is or ever has been so, if he hasn't told you he still loves you maybe that's because something has changed for him."

I truly want to argue with her. I know with absolute conviction that Michael still loves me. I can see it on his face when we're together, hear it in his voice when we speak. Even when we're fighting, even when he avoids me, I know that he wants me. His feelings absolutely have not changed. I have no doubt that the more he remembers, the deeper they become.

That's the real reason he ran to Texas in the first place. He wants to convince himself that the future he imagined with Lorena is the one he still wants. He doesn't want to risk his heart and face the possible fallout that comes with loving me. He refuses to surrender to his feelings. And that's really the crux of it. Michael does love me but, as of right now, he's unwilling to do anything about that. For him, a future with me isn't worth the risk and, somehow, that knowledge is more painful than if he had never loved me at all.

I quickly brush away the tears that spill over with that thought. "How is going to dinner with Raf supposed to change anything, Ma?" I sigh tiredly, tearfully, "I feel what I feel."

"I'm not saying that you will ever stop loving Michael. Maybe you never will. But that doesn't mean you can't rediscover your feelings for Rafael and move on from this. I hate to say it but, in a lot of ways, Michael is still dead to you. The man he is now isn't the man he was."

Yet again, I can't argue with her reasoning. So much has changed since Michael's absence, for me and for him. Our paths have diverged in completely opposite directions. Right now, Michael is trying to figure out his life, who he is and my place in it. But me? I know who I am and what I want and what I want the future to look like. The love between us still exists and I'm starting to believe it will always exist but we're not on the same page emotionally speaking and I'm beginning to wonder if we ever will be again. But even with that realization dawning on me, I'm not certain Rafael should be an option.

"I don't know. I don't want to give Raf false hope. Besides that, he deserves better than to be my second choice. That's been his biggest insecurity when it comes to Michael."

"He had to know on some level that's what he was anyway," Mom replies, "You and he would have _never_ started again if Michael hadn't 'died.'"

"It doesn't matter. There's too much baggage there. I've rejected him to be with Michael more than once, Mom."

"And he keeps coming back, doesn't he? If Rafael loves you then that means accepting every part of you, even the parts that still love Michael," Mom reasons.

"That seems like a lot to expect."

"Well, you've had to accept a hell of a lot more to be with him. All of that Solano drama that comes with loving him. Petra and her crazy, murderous mother. His lush of a sister. Hell, even Sin Rostro wreaking havoc in your life is partly due to Rafael! If you can deal with all of that he can deal with your feelings for Michael, damn it!"

"I'm sorry, are you making a case for him or against him right now?"

"I'm saying relationships are about compromise."

"It seems like a pretty big compromise to accept that the woman you love has feelings for another man."

"Not if you're upfront with him from the beginning and you tell him exactly how you feel. If Rafael knows all the gory details and he still decides to move forward with you then that's his decision."

"It sounds like you want Rafael to be my fallback guy, Mom, and that's not right. I'm not going to settle for him just because it can't work out with Michael."

"That's not what he is. He's the father of your child, Jane! Three months ago you wanted to marry him and you were wondering whether you were always meant to be with him!"

"Three months ago I thought Michael was dead. I can't go back, Ma."

She settles back into her seat with a longsuffering sigh. "I know. I thought you might feel that way."

"Then why did you suggest it at all?" I cry in exasperation.

"Because I miss seeing you happy. I miss seeing you smile."

"Michael makes me happy. _He_ makes me smile." _And he's the one I want_ , I add in my heart.

"But Michael isn't an option anymore, is he?" she counters softly, "Meanwhile, you and Rafael have managed to make a life together, Jane. Maybe it's time for you to focus on your future and let Michael be the past."

My mother's words are still ringing in my ears that night when I'm seated with Rafael and Mateo at our favorite restaurant for dinner. I have the realization that ever since Michael returned, my life has been stagnant. I'm spinning my wheels in every aspect of my life…as a daughter, as a friend, as a writer and, most importantly, as a mother. This entire time I've been frozen in place, waiting, hoping, wishing for the day when everything will fall into place and I will recognize my own life again.

Naively, I had believed Michael and I could simply pick up where we left off, as if five years hadn't passed and we both hadn't undergone incredible growth. Michael, conversely, hasn't been plagued with my same sense of inertia. He has picked up with his life and moved forward. I know that it is time for me to do the same.

And so, while I munch on gooey pizza with my family, I don't think about Michael at all for the first time in quite a long while and it feels nice. I have a pleasant time joking with Rafael and making silly faces with my son. It feels like old times again, the easy friendship that had once existed between us gradually being restored. Rafael and I chat about the lack of progress I'm making with my novel (mainly due to the fact that I've been severely blocked ever since Michael returned), his continuing love/hate relationship with his real estate partner and how close he is to building his dream hotel.

"We'll be breaking ground in four weeks," he tells me excitedly, "I can hardly believe it. If Petra hadn't agreed to put up some of the capital, it might not be happening this soon."

"Wow, that's generous of her. I can't believe you and Petra are going to be business partners again," I note with some surprise, "That should be interesting."

"She and I have really grown since the last time. She's with JR now and things are looking better for her legally speaking. This time it's going to be great. I can feel it."

"Well, I'm happy for you. I know how much you wanted this."

He smiles at me, his fingers lightly brushing the ridge of my knuckles. "We did it together. I never could have gotten this far without your support, Jane."

Gently but resolutely, I withdraw my hand and fold them primly in my lap. I might have made my peace with my non-relationship with Michael but that doesn't mean I'm ready to move forward again with Rafael. His smile falters a bit after I shrink back from his touch and so I attempt to take the sting out of my unspoken rejection and restore the relaxed atmosphere between us with my next words to him.

"I don't deserve any of the credit," I tell him, "This was all you, Raf. You worked very hard for this. I'm really proud of you."

I almost breathe a sigh of relief when his smile returns. "Thanks."

"Have you thought of a name for it yet?"

"Not yet. I'm still mulling over ideas."

"Well, I think you should name it The Greatest, Most Biggest Hotel Ever," Mateo pipes in, no doubt driven by his childish need to be a part of the conversation, "What do you think of that, Daddy? Can we name your new hotel that?"

Rafael disguises his appalled laugh behind a cough. "Um…well, I'll definitely keep that one under consideration, buddy."

"You should call it something that holds personal meaning for you," I suggest after taking a swig from my beer bottle, "After all, this hotel will be your legacy, Raf. You want a name that reflects your history."

Fervent emotion is swirling in the brown depths of his eyes when he whispers, "What about _The Villanueva_?"

I'm so floored that I barely register Mateo's overenthusiastic cheer of agreement. At least a dozen implications as to why he would want to do it go tumbling through my mind right then and all of them make me uneasy. "Oh…oh wow, that's…" It's difficult to know how I should react. I'm touched that he would want to but, at the same time, it feels weird. I don't want to torpedo his idea, especially when he seems so sincere about it but then I also don't think he should name his hotel after me.

"Raf, I'm…I'm so flattered that you would want to do that. I really am but-,"

"—You said I should name it after something that has personal meaning for me," he reminds me, "And that's you, Jane. You and Mateo are very personal to me. The Villanueva name is your history so…it's _my_ history too."

"Of course. I understand. You think of us as family-,"

"—We are family. The Villanuevas _are_ my family."

He's not overstating that either. For the past 4 years at least, he's had dinner with me and my family on a regular basis. He's become an almost daily fixture in the Villanueva household. He has a place with us. It's little wonder he would want to name his hotel after my family because, in essence, they _have_ become his family too. This moment also provides deepening insight into what Michael has been trying to tell me all along. Me choosing to be with him will go far beyond simply hurting Rafael. I will be excising him from the only family he's ever truly known. No wonder my mother was pushing me at him so hard this morning.

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, acutely aware of both his and Mateo's intense gazes as they eagerly await my response. I survey Rafael with a meaningful look. "I just think under the circumstances-,"

"—This isn't a play for you, if that's what you're thinking," Rafael interjects softly, "I don't have any ulterior motive here. I want you to know how much you mean to me, Jane."

I don't really have a ready response to that and our family dinner, which had started out with such promise, has now fizzled begun to fizzle into an awkward encounter. And though Rafael does his utmost to reassure me that he hadn't intended to pressure me, I can't help but feel pressured. He's making his grand telenovela gesture, the kind he knows I tend to be a sucker for but his timing couldn't possibly be lousier. I'm still licking my wounds over Michael and the last thing I want is to do is rekindle my relationship with Rafael when I don't even know how I feel.

It doesn't help that Mateo is here with us because he wants everything that Rafael wants. I can't come right out and tell Rafael how inappropriate he's being or chastise him for being so forward. Our son is eating up his every word, which of course, paints me as the lone holdout. In Mateo's eyes, it can't possibly be Daddy who's delaying the marriage and moving in business. No, that's _all_ Mommy. I suppose it would be too much to expect that both Rafael and I could sit down together and gently explain to him that I am going through a very difficult time and I'm not ready to marry anyone right now.

In the end, my frustration and anxiety ultimately drives me from the table. I need a moment to collect my thoughts, the take a few breaths and overcome the sudden feeling I have of being boxed in. I'm making a mad rush to the ladies room so I can give into the tears that are threatening in private when I nearly mow down a passing patron in my haste. When I lift my head to offer a quick apology, the words lodge in my throat as I find myself standing face to face with Michael. I'm so shocked to see him that I blurt out the first words that come to my mind.

"When did you get back in town?"

"My plane landed a few hours ago. I called your cell to let you know but it went straight to voicemail. I left you a message."

"Did you know I was here?"

The corner of his mouth tips in an ironic smile. "No. This is pure coincidence. I just finished up at the police station and thought I'd stop in here to grab some dinner."

Even through my brain is telling me to end the conversation right there and politely say my goodbyes, my heart is screaming at me to stay, Stay, STAY! And so I listen to the latter and, inevitably, keep asking him questions. "Why were you at the police station?"

"I remembered some more details about my kidnapping."

"You did? What kind of details?"

He shoves his hands into his pockets, his smile widening. "It's not something I can really get into when we're in the middle of a pizza parlor," he says wryly, "I was hoping that maybe you and I could go someplace quieter…you know, to talk."

I gape at him incredulously. "You want to talk?"

"Jane, I've been thinking and you were right about everything you said and I…"

He abruptly trails off in the middle of that fervent declaration, his attention becoming fixated on something beyond my shoulder. I know before I turn around that Rafael and Mateo are standing behind me. Like I said before, the timing is really, _really_ lousy. While all of us adults are busily trying to decide how we should react around each other, Mateo simply launches himself at Michael with a gleeful cry. He wraps his tiny arms around Michael's legs in an exuberant hug.

"Yay! Michael's home!"

Michael reaches down to tousle his hair with an affectionate smile. "Hey, buddy, I missed you too."

"Did you come to have dinner with me, Mommy and Daddy?"

The instant Mateo asks the question I want to groan aloud in mortification and that's before I note Michael's stricken expression. While his blue eyes had been soft with vulnerability only seconds before now they become shuttered and guarded once more. He gently extricates himself from Mateo's grasp.

"Actually, I was just passing through. I'm about to head back to Fort Myers now."

"I wish you could stay and have fun with us. My daddy's going to name his new hotel after my mommy," Mateo preens proudly.

I feel gutted listening to their exchange and that's before Michael says, "Nah, bud. This sounds like a family affair. I don't really belong."

Somehow, I manage to keep my tears at bay as I watch him walk away, even after Rafael asks me if I'm okay and throughout the ride back to Abuela's place. I don't break down completely until I'm huddled on the living room couch and I listen to the voicemail Michael left on my phone earlier that night, long after Mateo has been tucked in for bed.

 _You're right. I want you…and that terrifies me. It really does. But the feeling isn't going away so maybe we should talk about it. Call me, okay._

Yep. Lousy timing for sure.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen (Michael POV)**

Frankly speaking, being in love is a crock of shit.

Not too long ago, I thought nothing could be more frustrating than the fact Lorena wouldn't lower her guard enough to be with me but that feels like a cakewalk compared to what I'm going through with Jane. When I'm with her, I feel miserable because I can't imagine how we can be together without disaster following and when I'm not with her I still feel miserable because I can't imagine being without her. I'm plagued with endless indecision and it's exhausting. Whoever the hell said "love sets you free" deserves a throat punch! Repeatedly! Lately, I've been experiencing a cascade of emotions but "freedom" certainly hasn't been one of them.

When I decided to make my impromptu trip to Houston, it had been mostly out of desperation. Even with the distance I tried to maintain with her, I could feel my resolve towards Jane slipping a little more each day. It also didn't help that Rogelio, my erstwhile father-in-law, kept prompting me to "make my move" with Jane before I lost her to Rafael forever. He was determined to act as my self-appointed cheerleader which made it difficult to keep my feelings for Jane in perspective. Although I knew he was trying to be helpful, the insistence actually made me feel even more insecure.

Though my memory of the past is still spotty at best, I can recall enough to know that Rafael Solano and I have been engaged in a battle for Jane Villanueva's heart since before Mateo was born. That's more than seven years of hostility. First, Jane was with me, then him, then back to me again. It's like he and I are destined to love the same woman. Jane and I were married but she and Rafael share a child. Both are a lifetime bond and I'm not sure which should carry more weight.

What's more, I'm also not sure I want to be duking it out with Rafael Solano over Jane for the rest of my life. If what I witnessed last night was any indication, I am never going to have her complete heart. She is always going to be torn between the two of us and, quite frankly, that sounds like a sucky existence. Yet another reason why she and I won't work. My brain knows this full well but my stupid heart? Well, it wants what it wants. Unfortunately, not a single thing has changed for me, not even after Houston.

I had hoped that the trip would provide me with some much needed clarity. It was one thing to talk to Lorena daily but quite another to spend actual face to face time with her. I needed that. I needed to remind myself of all the reasons that I'd agreed to come out to Miami in the first place. It hadn't been to reconnect with Jane Villanueva. It had been because I wanted to prove to Lorena that she could trust me with her heart. And, in the beginning of my trip, I had earnestly believed I could rekindle those old feelings.

That had seemed like a real possibility too because I hadn't realized how much I had missed Lorena and Marcel until I found them waiting for me in the baggage terminal at the airport. The moment they congregated on me in a tight hug, I knew I was home. Right then, I had been absolutely sure I wasn't going to go back to Miami.

 _She frames my face in her hands with a tender smile, her dark eyes darting over my face like she's drinking me in. "I can't believe you kept this god-awful beard," she says with a teary smile._

 _"_ _Hey, give it time. It's going to grow on you."_

 _"_ _Not even," she laughs, before giving me another hug._

 _I think she might hold onto me forever but Marcel buts his way in as he often does. "My man!" he exclaims with a firm handshake, "Are you home for good now? Body shop hasn't been the same without you."_

 _"_ _Marcel!" Lorena admonishes him in a sharp tone, "Remember what we talked about! Give him time to figure it out. He's here and that's enough right now. So, let's be grateful for that."_

Lorena launched a successful effort to keep me living in the present during my stay. Discussion about whether the visit would be a permanent or temporary one was strictly off limits. In fact, we hadn't talked about my time in Miami at all. Instead, we discussed the memories I had already recovered and the news ones that were resurfacing every day but never if they pertained to Jane or Rafael or the ongoing love triangle we seem to have going on. Lorena and I fell back in to our usual routine pretty easily and it was almost like I had never left. _Almost._ Lorena recognized the change in me even if I wasn't aware that it was visible to anyone outside. Finally, she confronted me about it on what would turn out to be my last day there.

 _"_ _Are you in love with her?"_

 _I don't want to answer that question and so I do my best to circumvent answering her directly. "I'm still getting to know her, Lorena."_

 _"_ _So what? You've been in Miami long enough to know if you love her or not. So do you? Do you love her?"_

 _I'm still hesitant to answer because I don't want to break her heart. But I don't want to lie either and I admit aloud to her what I can't even say to Jane. "Yes. Yes, I love her."_

 _She takes the news with a degree of stoicism but I can tell it throws her a little. Perhaps because she had assumed that my sudden decision to fly back to Houston meant the exact opposite. Her next question confirms that suspicion._

 _"_ _Do you love her like you love me?"_

 _"_ _No."_

 _"_ _Is that a good thing?"_

 _"_ _What you and I have is something that had to be built over time. I had to learn to trust you, then like you, then love you," I explain as gently as I can, "What I feel for Jane…it's just there. It's always been there but I'm only now becoming aware of it."_

 _"_ _Have you told her?"_

 _I shake my head in answer. "And I won't either."_

 _"_ _Why not?"_

 _"_ _She and Rafael are a family, Lorie. I won't come between them. He did that, I think, when she and I were engaged before. I don't remember all the details but I do know what that felt like. I'm not going to do that to someone else, even if that someone is Rafael Solano."_

 _"_ _You don't like him?"_

 _"_ _He's an entitled ass. So no, I'm not a fan."_

 _"_ _Are you sure you're not jealous?"_

 _"_ _No. It's not that. His attitude really grates on me, especially when it comes to Jane. He's very possessive of her and sometimes I think he uses Mateo to manipulate her."_

 _"_ _Well, if that's what you think, why the hell do you want her to be with him?"_

That question echoed in my ears the entire flight home. _Why did I want to Jane to be with Rafael?_ I suppose it would be one thing if she has chosen him but she hadn't. So what if she still had a connection with him. She chose me. She wanted me. And, if she was willing to deal with the fallout that would very likely come from making that choice, couldn't _I_ do the same? Didn't she deserve that?

I had a new resolve in my heart when my plane landed in Miami that evening. I called Jane soon after we hit the tarmac. To my disappointment, her phone went straight to voicemail but I hadn't let that deter me. Instead, I'd gone straight to the police station to report the new details that have emerged about my kidnapping. Not only did I remember the cell where I was held captive, I can remember waking up and feeling groggy, strapped down to hospital stretcher apparently in the back of some kind of van or other transport vehicle. I hadn't been alone either. Two big, burly guys whom I had never seen before were guarding me, and they had made it clear that they would break me in half if I tried anything.

When I went to the police station that night it was with the hope that I would be able to find the men by possible criminal records. It took almost three hours of searching before I found a name to match one of the faces from my memory. Ralph Nesbitt. Thief, extortionist, career criminal and, unfortunately, still at large. If I had any chance of finding out what happened to me all those years ago I was going to have to find Nesbitt first and I didn't have a single lead.

Of course, my old boss and police buddies were more than eager to help me in my quest. Yet again, I had been offered my former position with the department. This time, however, I wasn't so quick to refuse.

The first time I had been asked I knew less than nothing about being a cop and didn't have any real desire to be one either. But in recent weeks I have been able to recollect my experiences in the police academy and even what had motivated me to join the force in the first place. Gradually, day by day, I was feeling more like the police officer I used to be and less like the lost vagabond that had come to Miami all those months ago. Michael Cordero is no longer a persona to me, someone I have to _try_ to be. At last, I'm beginning to feel comfortable in my own skin.

But even with that, I'm still uncertain as to whether or not I should dive right back into police work. The prospect is dangerous and unknown and I've become too big a fan of predictability to give it up now. Then again, I can't deny the part of me that longs for the adrenaline rush, that craves the crime solving aspect of the job. I want it and I miss it but I'm scared of it too. I'm torn and there's only one person that I want to confide in about my feelings.

Jane.

So, last night, it felt almost serendipitous when I bumped into her at the pizza parlor. It had been as if the Universe was saying, "Here, Michael Cordero, Jr. Here is your answer. Get your girl." I would have very probably blurted out my feelings for her then and there if _he_ hadn't shown up. Rafael Solano, bane of my existence and ever present pain in my ass. Wherever I am with Jane he will almost certainly show up too, whether in person or in spirit. I can't shake him and it's beyond annoying. Then again, he probably feels the same way about me.

But last night there was no denying that I was the interloper on their little family gathering. I was the odd man out, the ill-fitting piece to their perfect little puzzle. Apparently, Jane had decided to take my advice after all and move forward with Rafael. It's too bad that I regret ever giving her that advice in the first place. But it's too late now. She hasn't called me since our chance encounter at the pizza place and her silence makes her decision rather obvious.

I'm not happy about it but I only have myself to blame. This is a result of the choice I made and I will have to live with those consequences no matter how miserable they make me. I refuse to disrupt Jane's life anymore than I already have. Now all I have to do is figure out how to live without her all over again.

"You're not eating your breakfast." I glance up from my untouched plate of bacon and eggs to find my mother standing over me, her features drawn in a concerned frown. "What's wrong? I made all of your favorites."

"I guess I don't have much of an appetite," I reply wearily before shoving the plate away, "Sorry you went to all the trouble of cooking for nothing."

Far from being disappointed, Mom frames my face in her hands and smacks a motherly kiss to my forehead. "You're my son, Michael. It's no trouble."

I half hope that she will leave me alone then so I can brood in peace but I am not surprised when she doesn't. Instead, she fixes herself a cup of coffee and then stations herself in the empty seat across from me. I'm careful to conceal my aggravation, especially when she simply sits there and stares at me with knowing expression. It feels like an eternity goes by before she finally says something.

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

I stare at her blankly. "Talk about what?"

"Why you cut your trip so short for starters," she says plainly, "And why you've been so unbelievably crabby since you came back."

"I'm not crabby," I grumble but the petulance in my tone tells another story. My mother's dubious expression also makes it clear that she's not buying the denial. "I'm jetlagged," I tell her and it's not entirely a lie, "That's all. It was a long trip."

"Really? That's all?"

"Yes! _Really!_ "

"Okay," she replies gamely, "Then why haven't you called Jane since you've been back? In fact, you've hardly mentioned her at all."

"Why do you care? It's not like you're her biggest fan."

"But you are," she counters, her eyes narrowed intuitively, "And you didn't bring Lorena back home with you so I can only assume it didn't work out between you two."

The disappointment in her voice is unmistakable. Even though my mother has never met Lorena in person, she has had numerous phone conversations with her since my memory started coming back. She's convinced that Lorena is the perfect woman for me and hasn't passed up a single opportunity to matchmake. But I suspect her enthusiasm is due more to the willingness to accept any woman in my life that isn't Jane. I tell her as much.

"That is not true," she protests with an offended air, "Lorena saved your life. She kept you safe for the last six months and she encouraged you to come back to us. How could I not love her after all of that? You two being together as a couple would be added bonus."

"Mom…"

"I'm just saying that it might be nice to have a daughter-in-law I could actually like for a change."

I respond to that statement with a dramatic eye roll. "First of all, Lorena and I aren't getting married so you can put that idea out of your head right now," I tell her flatly, "Second of all, Mom, I'm pretty sure there was a time when you _did_ like Jane and you were excited by the idea of her becoming your daughter-in-law. Please stop acting like she's the worst thing that ever happened to me!"

"You're right," she concedes, "Once upon a time I did like Jane. Actually, I loved her and I loved the two of you together. But that changed after she left you and broke your heart. I've never looked at her the same way since."

"Obviously, I forgave her for that."

"And I never understood why you did. You were together for _two years_ , Michael. You were planning a wedding! And she left you for a man she barely even knew!"

"Well, she was pregnant with his baby, so…"

"Yes. She was. And you stuck by her through that fiasco too!" Mom snaps, "How did she repay you? By dumping you and getting with her baby daddy that very same night."

While I have been able to shrug away all of her other arguments, this one gives me pause. Jane had told me that she had felt "torn" between me and Rafael but she never mentioned the details of what had occurred and I never asked. At the time, it hadn't seemed important. Now, in light of everything that has transpired since I returned to Miami, I find myself needing to know those details.

"She really got with him the same night she left me?"

" _The same night._ And now, she's taken up with him again," Mom continues in a self-righteous rant, "You probably weren't cold in the ground before she went running back to him on winged feet!"

"…Mom, you know I'm not actually dead, right…"

"…and then she had the nerve, the absolute _gall_ to write that book, say it was a tribute to you and then turn around and get back together with the very man who destroyed your relationship!"

I zero in on this new piece of information. "Wait a minute. Jane wrote a book about my death?"

"No. She wrote a book about your love story," Mom clarifies, complete with air quotes, "When it finally came out, I bought the book and I was grateful to her because, in a way, that book gave me back my son. I thought I was seeing you through her eyes. But now she's right back with Rafael Solano, like you were just some stepping stone to her one, true love."

"She thought I was dead, Mom. She was entitled to move on."

"But of all the men she could have done that with, why did it have to be him?"

It was a good question and one I've asked myself numerous times since my memory began resurfacing. _Why did it have to be with him?_ I don't let myself dwell the possible answers to that because, when I do, I feel overwhelmed with anger and hatred for Rafael because it's almost as if he's usurped my life. Sometimes it feels almost too big to contain and it scares me. I thought running to Houston would provide me with enough distance to calm my precarious emotional state but when I saw him last night I discovered that my dislike for him was strong as ever, growing stronger even. For that reason, I try not to think too deeply about anything involving him. It's better for my peace of mind to simply ignore his existence when I can.

In keeping with that habit, I deliberately shift the subject away from him altogether. "So Jane wrote a book about us? What's the name of this book?"

She shakes her finger at me in stern admonishment. "Oh no you don't! She has you turned around enough! You don't need to romanticize her any more than you already do."

"Mom, I appreciate that you care but try to remember that I'm a grown man."

"I know that," she acknowledges after a sip of coffee, "But when I look at you, I see my little boy. I see the child that I lost for five years and I want to protect him. I don't want him to be hurt ever again.

"I failed with your brother. I didn't tell him the hard truths. I coddled him too much and now he's God knows where doing God knows what. Maybe if I had been stronger with him things would have turned out differently. I won't make those same mistakes with you, Michael. I won't watch you walk off a cliff."

"Mom, Billy and I are nothing alike. He's a thief and an addict."

"So are you," she counters softly, "You have an addiction too, only it's not to painkillers like your brother. It's to Jane Villanueva."

I choke out a short bark of incredulous laughter. "That's ridiculous!"

"No, it's not. You were so good for her, sweetheart, but in the end she was _not_ good for you. If you give your heart to her again, she _is_ going to break it."

"I think there's a strong chance that this your bias against her talking right now."

"Okay then. Don't believe me. Trust your instincts. What do they tell you?"

I don't have to ponder that question too long. I'm already very aware that falling in love with Jane Villanueva is a painful process. I know it wasn't like that to fall in love with her the first time around. I can remember enough about our early relationship to know that we had been very happy together but without any real obstacles to impede our future plans. I'm sure that had all changed with the introduction of Rafael Solano.

Mom wants to know what my instincts are telling me. It's simple. They tell me that Jane and I had once been good to each other and for each other no matter what she might claim. At the same time, I can't deny that Rafael is a problem, then and now. I also can't ignore the fact that Jane always seems to go back to him. No matter the circumstances, she and Rafael always seem to gravitate back into each other's orbits and they share a son so that isn't likely that will ever stop either. Certainly that has to mean something.

But because I'm not ready to deal with the implications surrounding that thought and the bitterness that comes with it, I shut down instead. "Can we please talk about something else besides Jane?" I ask plaintively, "I'm starting to get a headache."

"Fine with me," Mom agrees, "What do you want to talk about instead?"

 _Nothing really._ I bite back the ready response, mostly because it's not true. I have many things weighing on my mind. Beyond my relationship (or lack thereof) with Jane I am starting to give serious consideration to what I want to do with my life. I'm not sure what the next step in my journey should be but I do know that I'm ready to move forward.

Unfortunately, I don't know where to start and I can't very well bounce ideas off of Jane or Lorena given the circumstances. My mom is offering. She's probably the closest thing I'm going to get to a sounding board so I decide to take her up on her offer to talk.

"Okay. I'm thinking about returning to the police force." I share my internal conflict with her before I fully contemplate her possible reaction to the news. And that, I learn very quickly, is a mistake.

Mom chokes on her coffee and sputters before reaching for a napkin to pat her dripping mouth. "I'm sorry," she coughs, "I think I misheard you. You want to what?"

"I said, I was thinking about going back to work as a police detective."

Her response is swift, direct and curt. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Calm down," I preface in a soothing tone, "I'm only considering it right now. I haven't made a decision one way or the other."

"How are you thinking about it at all?" she cries in exasperation, "You almost died _twice_! You were shot, kidnapped, tortured and left for dead! Why would you _ever_ consider returning to that life?"

I am about to make an argument about the need I have to feel useful and productive after years of being a victim when my cell phone suddenly chimes to life in my pocket. Mom levels me with a narrowed glare as I pull it free. "So help me God if that is Jane Villanueva-,"

"—Mom, get a grip. It's not Jane," I assure her when I glimpse the caller I.D. screen, "It's the police station." Of course, that only increases her agitation. I quickly take the call before she can pelt me with a million questions. "Hello?"

"Is this Detective Michael Cordero?"

"This is Michael Cordero. Who am I speaking with?"

"This is Detective Alex Rawles with the Miami-Dade County police department. I've been heading up the investigation into the identity of the homicide victim that was buried in your grave five years ago. The final DNA results came back this morning."

I grip the phone tighter as what he is telling me dawns on me fully. Suddenly, my palms feel hot and clammy with sweat. My heart feels like it's pumping in my throat. "Does that mean you know who he is?" I'm eager to know and, at the same time, I don't want to know at all.

"Yes, sir. We know his identity. I'm afraid it's someone you know. Are you sitting down?"


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen (Jane POV)**

"No, you can't speak to her. Stop calling."

I carefully pull up my bedroom door so that I don't wake a sleeping Mateo and stop short just outside of it when I detect the angry edge in Rafael's tone. "…if she wanted to talk to you she would have called you so maybe you can stop acting so desperate!" I tiptoe down the hallway with every intention of eavesdropping shamelessly. My first thought that he is talking to Rose again and trying to deter her constant quest for Luisa. When I peek around the corner, I find him restlessly pacing my Abuela's living room as he rants into the phone.

"Why can't you let her go, damn it? You're making this harder for everyone, especially my son!" I imagine Rose must be taunting him in her usual way because his features suddenly become dark with rage. I flinch when he explodes again. "Like hell it has nothing to do with me! Who do you think you are? Jane is my fiancée! Maybe you should stop inserting yourself where _you_ don't belong!"

That's when I realize he's not on the phone with Rose at all. It takes me a split second to figure out that he's talking to Michael instead. Rather, he's _yelling_ at Michael. I glance reflexively at the coffee table and note the conspicuous absence of my cell phone. Without thinking, I rush forward and snatch my phone away before Rafael can end the call.

"Michael? Michael, are you there?"

For one horrifying second, I fear that he's already gone from the line but then he speaks but his words are so thick and garbled that I almost can't understand him. "I'm here."

"What's wrong? Why are you calling?"

"I just…I thought…I don't know. I don't know what I thought. It's not like you can fix it."

The frazzled edge in his tone alarms me. I don't know what's going on but it sounds to me as if he's been crying. He sounds hollow and suffocated. "Michael, you're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. It won't happen again," he says and then, before I can reassure him to the contrary, the call ends.

I stand there for a few seconds, the phone still held loosely to my ear, trying to process the rapid series of events that just happened. Everything is off kilter. Five minutes ago I was reading my son a bedtime story and tucking him in for the night and now I'm trying to determine how Rafael just ended up in a screaming match with Michael.

The most plausible explanation is that Michael must have called me. After nearly two days of radio silence, he finally called me and Rafael took it upon himself to answer my phone. I don't know if I should feel more shocked that Michael had been the one to end our stand still or furious that Rafael deliberately sabotaged my chance to talk to him. It also doesn't help to know that Michael had sounded extremely upset just now, like he was fighting back tears. If he had been willing to open the lines of communication between us then I know it must have been for an important reason.

As it all finally settles over me, I round on Rafael with barely leashed fury. "What did you just do?"

"I have a better question," he counters in a brusque tone, like _he's_ the injured party in this scenario, "Why is he still calling you? Better yet, why didn't he stay in Texas?"

"How is that any of your business?"

"How can you not see that he's playing you?"

I react to that dubious pronouncement with a doubletake. "I'm sorry but _what_? You think he's what?"

"It's the perfect arrangement for him," Rafael reasons, "He has his girl in Texas waiting for him and you waiting for him here and he doesn't have to commit to either one of you."

"I don't know who you think you're describing right now but that's _not_ Michael."

"You told me last night that you two were giving each other space. That's what you said, Jane. What happened to that?"

"How are you turning this around on me?" I cry in outrage, " _You_ answered my phone! _You_ yelled at him! He wasn't calling to talk to you, Raf! How dare you presume to speak for me?"

"You're not trying to see my point of view in this at all!"

"You don't get to have a point of view!" I snap irately, "This has _nothing_ to do with you!"

He winces at the outburst. "I love you, Jane. At the very least, I'm still your friend and the father of your child. What affects you, affects me too. And what you do or don't have going on with Michael affects our future. I get to weigh in on that."

I close my heart and mind to his words with a weary shake of my hand. "What did he say to you?"

"Who? Michael?"

"Yes! What did he say?"

"He wanted to talk to you," he replies with great reluctance, his words sharp with anger, "He said it was urgent. It always is with him."

"And you didn't give me the phone?" I seethe. I don't wait to hear his explanation but instead put in an immediate call to Michael. The phone rings and rings but then goes straight to voicemail. I hang up and try again but this time the phone doesn't even ring before going to voicemail. "Damn it, Michael."

"He won't answer?"

I raise a glower of pure fury. "Because of you."

"Don't you see what he's doing? This is how he plays with your head, Jane. He wants you to chase him. As soon as you stopped doing it, he had to get you stirred up again."

He keeps on talking, making his case for how Michael is a calculating manipulator but I barely register anything he says because I'm too busy calling Michael again and again, hoping desperately that he will pick up the phone. I keep going over and over in my mind how upset he sounded on the phone, my mind racing with all the possible scenarios for what could have happened. I can't imagine that it is anything good which only makes me all the more frantic to talk to him.

When it becomes apparent that he won't answer and has likely turned off his phone at this point, I make a dive for my purse and car keys and stuff my bare feet into the nearest pair of shoes I can find. "I need you to watch Mateo for a few hours," I tell Rafael, already heading for the door with a half formed idea in my head.

Rafael dogs my heels as I head outside to make a mad dash towards my car. "Jane! Wait! Where do you think you're going? It will be dark soon!"

When I move to open the car door and attempt to duck inside, he steps in front of me to block my path. "Where are you going?"

I glare at him at him stonily. He glares right back. "Move," I order from between clenched teeth.

"Not until you calm down and listen to me. I know you're mad right now but that's no reason to storm off! You want me to apologize? Okay! Fine! I should have given you the phone when Michael called. There! Are you happy?"

If anything, his rancorous apology makes me even angrier. "Get out of my way, Raf."

"We were supposed to discuss what we wanted for our future tonight," he presses on, seemingly impervious to my mounting aggravation, "We're supposed to talk about _our family_ , Jane, and then Michael calls and suddenly all of that is out the window! That's why I didn't give you the damned phone!"

"Well now you can live with the consequences of that decision!" I rudely shove him aside then and hop into the driver's seat. After I crank the ignition I decide to address him one more time before I close the car door. "I'm going to Fort Myers. I'm going to make sure that Michael is okay."

He stumbles back a step, his face slack with disbelief. "You can't be serious. You're going to drive over 150 miles tonight just to see him?"

"Something's wrong with him. I know it. If he won't answer my calls then I need to go to him."

"What if Mateo wakes up and asks where you are?"

"Tell him I will be back as soon as I can."

"So, basically, you're abandoning our son?" he determines, his jaw taut, "Is that it?"

At this very second, I cannot and will not deal with his "my way or the highway" attitude. I'm too worried about Michael. Consequently, my response to him isn't the greatest. "You know what, Raf?" I grit out furiously, "Go to hell!"

I slam the car door then, barely missing his fingers, and back the car from the driveway. From the rearview mirror, I can see him step out into the street to watch me as I peel out of there. That is the last image I have of him as I turn the corner and head towards the highway. Of course, my self-righteous indignation doesn't last very long. I'm about ten minutes into my trip when I start to second guess myself. The one thing that keeps me from turning back is pride. Beyond that, I'm not feeling confident in this decision at all.

 _What the hell are you thinking, Jane?_ The question cartwheels through my brain in an endless loop. Michael and I haven't had a real conversation since that God awful camping trip! He isn't answering my calls right now! What makes me think that he wants to see me?

Furthermore, there's a huge amount of tension between us right now. That night in the pizza parlor had done little to alleviate it either. And then, when I remember his voice message and how uncertain and defeated he had sounded even as he confessed his feelings for me, I start to doubt my decision all over again. Because Michael might indeed love me but it's also clear that he doesn't _want_ to love me.

And even knowing that, I had wanted to call him afterwards. I've thought about dialing his number every minute for the past two days. But I'm stubborn and I can't be the one to make the first move this time. I don't want to always be the one chasing after him.

When he saw me and Rafael together that night, he didn't stand his ground and he didn't fight. Instead, he retreated exactly as he's been retreating since the moment it became apparent that his feelings for me were changing. And so I've made up my mind since then that I can't be the only one putting forth the effort. I can't keep fighting for us if Michael isn't willing to do the same. He has to be willing to risk his heart for me and, if he isn't, then we're never going to work. So, I did the only thing I could do. I haven't called him once since that night and he hasn't called me either…until tonight.

I suppose that's the real reason I'm driving like a bat out of hell to Fort Myers right now. Because he called. Michael called and I know that something monumental must have happened to prompt him to do that, to keep him from hanging up the phone immediately when Rafael answered. I don't know what that something is but my gut tells me that he needs me. No matter how unsure I am of my decision right now, it feels like the right one.

I'm so worked up over what could possibly be going on with him that fifty five minutes into my trip, when my cell phone rings, I almost swerve into the next lane and hit the car next to me in my haste to answer it. However, I'm confused when the number illuminated on the I.D. screen is one I don't readily recognize. Normally, I would simply hit "end" to abort the unwanted call but this time, for some inexplicable reason, I decide to answer.

"Mrs. Cordero?" the voice on the other line greets after I say hello, "Am I speaking to Jane Cordero?"

This isn't someone who is familiar with me at all. No one I know actually refers to me as "Jane Cordero," and the fact that he does fills me with apprehension because I know this call is an official one. "Yes, this is Jane Cordero. Who is this?"

"My name is Detective Alex Rawles. I've been investigating the homicide victim who was buried in your ex-husband's grave. We've had a breakthrough in the case and I wanted to bring you up to speed."

"Y-You have? What kind of breakthrough?"

"We've learned the man's identity," he continues in a most professional manner, "Are you seated at this time? Do you have any family with you who could offer support?"

"No. Why would I need that?"

"I have some rather shocking news to for you and I want to make sure you're prepared."

"Who was in the grave?" I ask softly.

"The body belonged to your former brother-in-law, Mr. William Cordero."

"Billy?" I croak in disbelief, "He's dead? Are you telling me that the person we buried was my husband's _brother_?"

"Yes, ma'am. There's no question about it. The DNA confirms it. The body was his."

"Oh my God…"

"I am so sorry for your loss, ma'am."

I blink back my tears so that I can keep focused on the road. "D-Does my hus… I mean, does Michael know?" I ask when I have finally composed myself enough to speak, "Have you told him yet?"

"Yes, ma'am. He's aware. I updated him earlier this evening."

After I end the call, I feel numb. I hadn't known Billy Cordero very well at all. He and Michael had always shared a complicated and contentious relationship. According to Michael, Billy had never recovered following their parents' divorce. The anger and resentment had stayed with him for years and, for a long while, that was something that had bonded them as siblings because Michael had the same difficulty accepting the dissolution of their family. It was only when Michael began to make peace with it, shortly before he joined the police academy, that he and Billy began to have a strained relationship.

Now Michael's behavior on the phone earlier makes so much sense. I can only imagine the crushing anguish he must feel right now. I know he already carried the burden of that nameless man's death on his conscience. To learn that the man buried in his place had actually been his own brother must be too devastating to bear. And that's obviously why he had called me, to tell me that his baby brother was dead. Only he had been blocked and insulted by Rafael. Just thinking about how he must have felt causes my anger with Rafael to surge anew and I have to grit my teeth to keep from swearing aloud.

But I can't let myself get caught up in those boiling feelings of rage because it's unproductive. If I am going to maintain any sort of perspective, and I have to for Mateo's sake, I need to be reasonable about this entire situation. There are many complicated motivations behind why Rafael did what he did tonight and most of those stem from my inability to be completely honest with him…and myself.

It's true that my feelings for him are very muddled at the moment. He has been my lover and my best friend. He has supported me through some of the darkest periods of my life. He's the person who encouraged me to become a writer and pursue my dreams. We have a child together, a beautifully complicated history together. So much of who I've become is tied up in Rafael. He is a very permanent part of my heart but…I'm not in love with him anymore.

I'm not certain when the realization fully hits me but when it does I can't deny the truth anymore. I love Rafael and I will always want him in my life in some capacity but I can't imagine a future with him. Not anymore, not after all that has happened. Because as much as we've shared over the years, as close as we've become, I've never, _never_ given my entire heart to Rafael. I couldn't. Michael took a large chunk of it when I lost him and now that he's returned, he still has it.

It's Michael. It's always been Michael. I think, deep inside, I've known that since the second I walked into Rafael's apartment and saw him standing there.

While I've always struggled with defining what I feel and want with Rafael, what I feel and want with Michael has always been clear to me. I knew from the second we met that we would have something special, from the moment I staggered forward to pull open my front door and found him standing on the other side of it. I knew we were meant for each other when I was a drunk, silly 21 year old girl and I know it now. That night when I saw Michael again in Rafael's apartment, I could still feel that connection. That something special was still there between us, even if he couldn't remember, even if I couldn't admit it to myself at the time.

So that's the entire truth. I've fallen back in love with Michael. If I'm truly honest, I have _never_ fallen out of it.

Now that I've finally made peace with that, I feel strangely free. I'm not afraid. I'm not uncertain. I know exactly what and who I want now and I absolutely know that we belong together. I won't give up on us.

With that firm resolve fixed in my heart, I make the entire trip to Fort Myers in a little over two hours. It's a miracle I'm not stopped and ticketed as I race down the highway at nearly 90 miles per hour. By the time I make it to Patricia Cordero's home it is 10:15 at night. Unfortunately, all of my bravado fizzles into nothing when her house looms before me. Once again, I find myself questioning the wisdom of this trip.

Do I really want to show up on Patricia Cordero's doorstep unannounced at 10 pm when she just learned that her youngest son is dead? It doesn't seem like a solid plan at all and yet, here I am. I've driven too far to turn back now. Michael's brother is dead. He and his mother are probably going through emotional hell right now. If there's anything I can do to ease their suffering I want to try.

A quick glance at my phone reveals several missed called from my parents and Abuela. Rafael hasn't called at all. I don't know whether I should be concerned by that fact or relieved. In the end, I decide to put it out of my mind and, after a quick text to my mother to let her know that I had arrived safe and sound, I exit the car.

Once I'm on the front porch it takes me a few minutes to work up the courage to ring the doorbell. I'm hoping I will have a second to calm my frayed nerves but right after I ring the bell, Michael answers the door right away. I'm startled to see him standing there because I had been preparing myself to come face to face with his mother instead.

He is clearly shocked to see me as well but I hardly register that because I'm so distracted by how awful he looks. His skin is pale and sallow. His hair is unkempt, falling over his forehead in disheveled waves. His appearance is made all the more grizzled by his shaggy beard. His face is blotchy and puffy and I assume that's from crying. His eyes confirm further confirm that assumption. They are dull and bloodshot and rimmed with angry red. I want so badly to hug him right then but his guarded expression makes me hesitate.

"Jane?" he says in a tone that is rough with grief, "What are you doing here?"

Once more I have to check the impulse to throw my arms around him. "I heard about Billy," I tell him instead, "I am so, so sorry, Michael."

I don't know if I expect anything in that moment beyond his polite acceptance of my condolences but when he suddenly wraps his arms around me tightly I can't help but return his embrace. I clasp him against me, hoping to convey all my empathy, support and love through my touch. He buries his face against my neck, murmuring a litany of "thank yous" against my skin. When he finally pulls away from me I discover that we are both crying. We make a mutual effort to compose ourselves and then Michael invites me inside.

It's dim within the house. Only a single lamp illuminates the living room. Spread across the surface of the coffee table are dozens and dozens of pictures of Billy spanning across several decades. I imagine Michael must have been sorting his way through them before I knocked.

After we've dispensed with small talk and I'm seated in the chair nearest to the front door, Michael sinks down onto the sofa and asks, "How did you know about Billy?"

"The detective called and told me that they had identified the body from the grave."

His blue eyes flare wide with surprise. "And you drove out here as soon as you heard?"

"Actually, I was already on my way here when I got the call." I can tell he is stunned by the admission. "Well, you didn't really give me any other options," I tell him, easily discerning his tacit question, "I tried to call you. You weren't answering your phone and I was worried."

Michael ducks his head in what appears to be sheepish remorse. "Sorry about that. I turned off my cell after the first time you called."

"Oh. Well, don't be alarmed to find about 20 missed calls from me when you turn it back on," I joke.

He doesn't laugh, however. If anything, my attempt at levity only seems to heighten his guilt. "I should have picked up," he acknowledges, "It wasn't my intention to worry you. But I didn't want it to become this whole, big deal with Rafael. I wasn't in the headspace for that, Jane."

I repress my answering growl of aggravation when I think of Rafael's actions tonight. "He was way out of line with what he said to you, Michael."

"Yeah…well, he's trying to keep his family together. I get why he said it. At least he was honest."

I'm about to make a vehement argument against excusing Rafael's behavior when it suddenly dawns on me that we are alone. A quick listen for the soft, ambient sounds within the house confirms it. I regard Michael with a confused frown. "Where's your mother?"

"She went to tell Dad about Billy. She didn't want to do it over the phone."

"You didn't go with her?"

"I offered but she said no. I think she wanted to be alone." He stares down at his hands with a forlorn expression and I see his lashes fluttering rapidly so I know he's blinking back his tears. "I think she blames me."

My heart wells with compassion and sympathy when he says that and I need to comfort him, anyway that I can. "Michael, you know she doesn't."

He grunts his dissent. "Maybe she should."

I recognize that he's about to spiral then. In hopes of slowing his tumble down the rabbit hole of guilt and blame, I try to shift the subject somewhat. "How is she doing, by the way?"

"She's devastated, of course." He drags both hands down the length of his haggard face in a gesture of supreme weariness. "Did you know that neither of my parents had heard from Billy in five years? It never once occurred to them that he might be dead." I watch as his eyes well with fresh tears. "It didn't occur to me either."

"Michael, it's not your fault."

"Then why does it feel like it?" he weeps, "He was my little brother! I should have protected him and he died because of me…and I have to live with that!"

As he breaks down completely, his features contorted with grief, I'm compelled to go to him. I don't even think about it. I simply walk over and pull him into my arms and he comes willingly. He bands his arms tightly around my waist and buries his face into my chest, sobbing so harshly that his entire body shakes. I cradle him against my body and press my lips to the crown of his head, murmuring mindless words of comfort into his tousled hair that mingle with my own tears. It feels like he cries for an eternity, like he's not only crying for his brother but for everything he's lost these last five years and I can't help but cry with him.

When his grief finally begins to subside I can feel something begin to change between us as he quiets. His grip on my waist loosens but he doesn't release me. I can feel the warmth of his breath permeate the thin cotton of my tank top, feel the slow, deliberate way he inhales and exhales. My own breath catches in my lungs when I feel him begin to nuzzle against my breast, his slim fingers strumming along the curve of my lower back. I am suddenly intensely aware of his body pressed into mine, the warmth of his skin against my own. He lifts his head to look at me then and I finally expel the breath I've been holding. I know he's going to kiss me even before he pulls me closer and his eyelids become heavy with the intent.

The first touch of his lips is soft, sweet and so fleeting, almost like the beat of a butterfly's wings. When I open my eyes he is staring at me intently, his own gaze full of silent supplication. I answer with slight nod of my head and we kiss again, deeper this time, slowly in tentative exploration. I cradle his face in my hands, fitting myself as closely as I can, reacquainting myself with the lean contours of his body, the softness of his lips. He moans his approval and pulls me closer, his hands twisting into my hair, his tongue teasing the seam of my lips.

Somehow I end up straddling his lap and our kisses grow increasingly frantic, breathless, desperate. We rock against each other in timeless, familiar rhythm, our bodies straining and writhing together in need. His hands are everywhere. Under my shirt, skimming my back, cupping my breasts, squeezing my thighs. He peppers open mouthed kisses across my throat and collarbone, wherever he can find exposed flesh. I hold him against me, needing to be closer. But it's not close enough. I need more. I need to touch his bare skin.

I'm reaching for the hem of his t-shirt before I've even fully formed the idea. I break our kiss, just long enough to pull the soft cotton up and over his head before flinging it aside. But when I try to resume our kiss he stops me. I regard him with glassy eyes, panting harshly, heart thundering. He stares back at me, plainly in the same state.

"Why are we stopping?" I whisper as I duck my head for another taste of his mouth. To my everlasting frustration, he averts his face so that my lips graze his cheek instead.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

When I meet his eyes, I can see the troubled anxiety swirling in their blue depths. I know what he's asking and I know why. After all, we're charting unfamiliar territory together and for more reasons than the most obvious. The Jane he knew before would have been hesitant and uncertain and would have been far too cautious about giving into her desire but I am not that young woman anymore. I'm not afraid to take what I want or make my needs known. And I _need_ him.

I can feel his desire for me throbbing against my inner thigh. It's not even a thought in my head to tell him refuse him. Without a word, I lean back from him to slowly remove my shirt and bra and then toss them aside. His eyes roam over my body in a hungry approval. "Does that answer your question?"

Michael doesn't respond to the question with words at all. Instead, with all traces of hesitation vanished from his expression, he draws his fingers down the slope of my breast in a feather-light caress, as if he's familiarizing himself with the shape and feel of me again. Then he wraps his arms around me once more and pulls me down against him for another kiss.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen (Michael POV)**

I'm having a hard time believing any of this is real.

Currently, I am lying on my mother's newly reupholstered sofa, completely naked, with an equally naked Jane snuggled against me. She's draped lazily across my body, her leg thrown over my thighs. Her cheek is resting against my shoulder as she randomly traces the ridged scar to my upper left chest, the remnants of a bullet wound that I barely remember. But what I _do_ remember is laying with her like this countless time before. It feels almost normal, like we hadn't lost those five years after all. In spite of the depressing circumstances that brought her here tonight, I can't help but smile.

"You always do that," I remark wryly.

I feel her smile stretch against my skin. "Do what?"

"Trace that stupid scar. I don't know what your fascination is with it."

She shifts her weight so that she can look down at me when she answers. "It's not fascination," she tells me in a strangely emotional tone, "It's a reminder that your being here with me is a miracle and I _never_ want to take that for granted, Michael."

I can sense the underlying reprimand in her words, the implication that _I_ have been taking this second chance that we've been handed for granted. "I've been a real jackass to you, haven't I?

"Yes. Yes, you have," she laughs in agreement, "But I think I knew you'd come around…eventually."

I tug her closer for a tender but thorough kiss. "I'm really glad you're here."

She smiles against my mouth. "Me too."

After she settles back down against me with a sleepy yawn, I hold her close, letting my hand drift idly up and down the length of her back because I can't suppress the need I have to touch her right now. Gradually, she grows heavier and heavier against me and I know it's because she's starting to drift off. But while Jane seems relaxed enough to nap, I find that I'm too wired to sleep which, I think, is rather unusual for me. Now that the haze of lust has ebbed, my thoughts are racing crazily as the full enormity of what's happened between us finally hits me.

Jane and I just had sex, incredible, spontaneous, amazing, _non-married_ sex. I'm not complaining about it but, clearly _a lot_ has changed in the last five years. I'm hardly an expert on our past relationship just yet but what I can recall about being with her back then was that it had involved a great deal of waiting…and waiting…and many months of _freaking_ waiting. There had actually been a time when she had been very much against pre-marital sex or, at the very least, had wanted to avoid it. I'm sure that her feelings about that could have changed after she had given birth, married and been widowed all within a short period of time but it still feels…weird, I guess.

But tonight, she had shown no signs of conflict or hesitation whatsoever. She had come after me with the full confidence of knowing what she wanted and having the willingness to take it without apology. She was bold and sexy and fierce in a way I don't quite remember her being. I'm intrigued by the difference but, at the same time, it doesn't feel familiar to me. It's a stark reminder that there are still many things about Jane I don't know yet, things I don't know about myself either. The realization is a little unnerving.

Still, I don't regret that it happened. In fact, I'm already planning for it to happen again. But the truth is, there is still so much unsettled between us, so much we still have discuss about what we want from one another and how we envision our future, both individually and as a couple. In addition to that, we haven't even talked about Mateo or Lorena or… _Rafael_ at all and they are an enormous subject that we cannot avoid.

In spite of knowing that, however, I find myself scowling when I think of Rafael Solano. I'd much rather _not_ think about him at all but that is an impossibility because of how intricately his life is woven with Jane's. He is a vital part of her that I can't ignore or underestimate. His specter lurks in the room with us right this second because even though Jane and I have taken this monumental step together, I still can't be sure what type of feelings she has for Rafael or how deep they go. We've sort of jumped right into playing the game without taking a moment to lay the ground rules first. I hate that I'm harboring any doubts at all about her feelings and I hate him as well.

There are times that the intensity of rage I feel for the guy actually frightens me. When he first brought me back to Miami with him, I was mistrustful of his motives but I didn't really have any real dislike for him. I'd mainly wanted to know the motivation behind _why_ he'd brought me back with him in the first place. But as my memories have started to resurface in the past few weeks there is a sheer loathing that I have for him that surprises me. Sometimes when I'm asleep at night, I literally dream about hurting him, can hear an insidious voice whispering to me, reminding me of how much I hate him, how much he's taken from me and how I should make him pay.

When I wake from those dreams, I'm panicked and confused and filled with shame that the thoughts were even in my head to begin with. I don't know where they're coming from because the actions I carry out in my subconscious are not anything I would think of doing in real life. Because, in spite of what I feel about Rafael Solano, he is Mateo's father. Mateo loves him and I love Mateo and, for that reason alone, I would never do anything to hurt the guy. Yet, in spite of my conviction, that dark part of my soul continues to linger, the part of myself I don't want to acknowledge or think about, the part that _does_ want to hurt him.

I've talked to my therapist about it and he theorizes that what I'm feeling is a latent response to Rafael's intrusion into my well ordered life nearly a decade ago. He seems to think as my memories return, my resentment of Rafael is returning with it because I am, essentially, reliving those moments from the past. Beyond that, he doesn't seem too concerned about the nightmares I've been having or growing feelings of rage that plague me. I know that it's something I need to discuss with Jane, especially now, but I'm not really sure how exactly I should tell her that sometimes I dream about killing her baby daddy.

I know it's not something I can put off forever. Rafael Solano is a subject that we need to discuss but, at the same time, I'm not at all eager to do it. I don't hold any illusions that it will be an easy or simple conversation either which makes the prospect of doing it even less appealing. At this present time with everything I have going on right now, I don't think I can wrestle with Jane's possible unresolved feelings for Rafael and the hatred I have for him on top of everything else, not to mention dealing with that while I'm still recovering my memory. Then again, perhaps this was something I should have come to terms with _before_ Jane and I slept together.

"What are you thinking about?"

I startle slightly at Jane's sudden question. "Hey. I thought you were asleep."

"Nope. Just lying here, listening to your heart beat about million miles a minute."

"Oh. Sorry about that."

"So…" she presses, lifting her head to regard me when I don't elaborate further on that subject, "Are you going to tell me what's making your heart race?"

"You."

She grins at my reply and, right then, she's never looked more beautiful to me. Her dark eyes are glowing, her tousled hair framing her face. I've finally reached the point where I can appreciate this new length in comparison to the way she had once worn it but I can admit that that the way she wears it now is pretty sexy too. I can plainly see the love she has for me written all over her face and seeing it there helps to soothe the misgivings I've been having.

"Haha," Jane laughs, lightly tapping the tip of my nose with her finger, "Nice try but flattery will get you nowhere. I'm serious. Tell me what you're thinking, Michael."

"I'm thinking that we have a lot to talk about…" I hedge finally, "…and I'm not really sure where to begin."

The brightness of her smile fades a little. "Yeah…I know."

"So shouldn't we do that? You know…talk and stuff?"

"Well, if you want to but…" She begins tracing tantalizing circles across my abdomen with her index finger, her touch descending in a deliberate trek towards my groin. "I'm not really in the mood for talking right now."

"No?" She shakes her head, a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. When she dips her head and nuzzles against my chest, her tongue darting out to against my skin, I can't keep myself from smiling. "So what do you want to do?" I whisper but I know the answer to that question long before her hand slips lower to fondle my softened genitals. It only takes a few seconds before I start to harden beneath her touch. "Oh, okay…" I say as I deftly flip our positions so that I'm settled between her legs, "I think I can live with that…"

Thirty minutes later, we're sweaty and breathless and tangled together on the floor. In our enthusiasm to be together, we managed to fall off of the sofa completely and have somehow ended up wedged in between it and the coffee table. But that had hardly deterred us. Now Jane is lying on top of me with her face tucked into the crook of my neck, our bodies still connected intimately. I absently sift my fingers through the sweat-dampened strands of her hair and simply drink in the wonder of this perfect moment.

"I just want to stay right here with you like this forever," Jane mumbles, her words muffled against my skin, "I don't want to move."

"Yeah, but we're going to have to eventually," I urge without much conviction, "My mom's going to be home soon so we should probably get dressed."

Unfortunately, with the mention of my mother, I am suddenly reminded of the reason she left in the first place and my grief and guilt over my brother settles over me anew but this time the feeling is accompanied by burning shame as well. It's not that I'd forgotten that my brother was dead but, for the last hour and a half, I hadn't thought about it. The realization makes me feel a little sick because I don't know if I should be able to put Billy's death out of my mind so easily, not when I know that I'm the one responsible for it in the first place. I don't know if I should be feeling as happy as I am right now.

I start to shift from beneath Jane, feeling a twinge of regret when I slip from inside her and the physical connection between us is broken. But before I can roll away completely to begin retrieving my scattered clothes, she grabs hold of my forearm to waylay me. I don't resist her effort. When I turn back to face her I find that she's regarding me with a frown of concern.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

Once again, her intuition when it comes to my emotions leaves me a little astonished. "It's nothing."

"It's _something_. Tell me." When I still hesitate, mostly because I'm trying to find a way to verbalize what I'm feeling, she mistakes my resistance for something else entirely. Her eyes brighten with unshed tears. "Do you regret what happened between us?"

"No! Not at all!"

My response is so emphatic that it prompts her wobbly smile. "Then what's with the face?"

"Billy," I finally confess in an under-breath, "He's dead and I'm…"

"Alive. You get to live, Michael. That's okay."

"But I'm living because he's not," I remind her brusquely.

She scoots closer behind me and circles her arms around my waist. I can't help but relax a little when I feel her lips nibble at the back of my shoulder. "You don't know that."

"I sure as hell _do_ know that! Someone kidnapped me, likely Sin Rostro, faked my death and then killed my brother to keep up the ruse," I recount with brutal candor, "He was just collateral damage. He wasn't even a person to them."

"That's not _your_ fault," she insists, "You're as much a victim in this whole mess as your brother."

"There's a difference. He died alone, Jane. At least I have you, Mateo, my parents and yours. Billy didn't have anyone."

"That was his choice, Michael. You tried with him. He's the one who didn't want to change."

I know she's trying to make me feel better and I'm grateful that she cares but this is not something from which I should be absolved. I carry the weight of my brother's death because I am responsible. There is little anyone can say to me, even Jane, that will soften that brutal reality.

"Did I ever tell you what the autopsy revealed?" She shakes her head. "A lethal dose of potassium chloride. Stopped his heart instantly. That's how they killed him…like he was vermin."

"Michael…"

"I'm going to make her pay. I'm going to figure out how she did it and I'm _going_ to make her pay."

"Maybe you should let the police handle that," Jane suggests, leaning forward to nuzzle against my cheek, "Rose Solano is psychotic and she's already targeted you twice. I don't want to make it a third time."

I'm thinking that this is probably a good time to tell her I might return to the police force soon but the sudden illumination of approaching headlights within the living room has me biting out an alarmed curse instead. "My mom's home! Hurry! Get dressed!"

We frantically scramble around the living room to collect our clothing, wiggle back into to them, rearrange the cushions on my mother's precious sofa and try not to look like we've spent the last 90 minutes having sex on her living room floor all before my mother can exit the garage and enter the house. In the end, I'm missing one sock so I decide to go barefoot entirely. Jane can't find her underwear and is forced to go full on Commando.

Of course, I discover the conspicuous scrap of silk wedged under to leg of the sofa just as I hear the door leading from the garage slam, an indication that my mother has entered the house. I have barely enough time to snatch them up and shove them into the pocket of my sweatpants when my mom comes walking into the living room. I pray devoutly to God in that moment that Jane and I don't look as frazzled as we feel and that distinctive scent of sex has faded from the room.

"Michael, is that Jane's…" She stops short, her question suspended in the air as she sets eyes on a disheveled Jane standing in her living room. Her lips compress in a tight smile. "I guess it is," she mumbles, "Hello, Jane. I saw your car outside. It's late. What are you doing here?"

We exchange a furtive glance, acutely aware of our ruffled states, and make a silent, mutual agreement to completely play it off. "I…I heard about Billy, Mrs. Cordero," Jane says, "I wanted to offer my condolences."

Mom's guarded expression relaxes but only a little. "Thank you, Jane." She glances around the living room with a deep frown and I really have to fight the urge to squirm. Suddenly, I feel like I'm sixteen again and she's just walked into my bedroom to find me making out with our neighbors' teenage daughter. It's all very awkward. I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until she asks Jane, "How long have you been here?"

"Just an hour or so," Jane replies, and I can tell she's fighting the same urge I have to fidget, "I came as soon as I heard the news." She winces almost immediately over that particular phrasing which gives me no option but to cover for her as she totally loses her self-possession.

"You were gone for a long time," I remark to my mother, "How did Dad take the news?"

"He's in shock. So am I really. We thought we lost one son only to find out we actually lost the other. It's crazy. I can't wrap my mind around it."

"Mom, I'm sorry…"

"You should call your father," she tells me, completely blowing past my apology, "Not tonight. It's almost one o'clock in the morning." She pauses to direct a meaningful glance at Jane before she continues, "But you should call him first thing tomorrow. He wants to hear from you."

"Okay. I will."

"Good," she sighs, "I'm going to go to bed. I'm exhausted. I've got an entire day of funeral arrangements ahead of me tomorrow and I want to be as well rested as I can be."

"I can help you with that," I offer gently, "Whatever you need."

"I don't know what we're going to do. Your father is still trying to decide if we should bury his remains or…or cremate him. I don't even know." She presses her fist into her mouth to dam the sobs that threaten. "You'd think I'd have some context about this since I've done it once before."

At that point, I step forward to embrace her. "I am so sorry, Mom."

She shrugs away from me to fix me with a stern frown. "For God's sake, would you please stop apologizing, Michael?" she admonishes me, "I don't blame you. Do you understand me? _I don't blame you._ I blame the criminal responsible for tearing our family apart! That's the whole reason I don't want you going back to the force. I don't want you mixed up in that business anymore."

My intention of comforting her is thwarted when, from behind me, Jane blurts out, "I'm sorry. What did you just say?" Belatedly, I realize what has just happened and I immediately turn around to soothe her senses but I can tell by her facial expression that it's much too late for that. I suppress a groan of resignation as she explodes, "Did I hear her right? You're going back to the force?"

"I'm thinking about it," I admit with great reluctance.

Jane's reaction is much like my mother's had been. "Are you _crazy_?"

"That's exactly what I said," Mom interjects.

"Michael, why would you want to do that?" Jane cries in disbelief, "And after everything we've been through! We lost five years of our lives!"

"That was because of Sin Rostro."

"Because you were a _cop_ , Michael, and she targeted you for that!"

"Yes, because that was my job. To catch criminals like her and to see that they faced justice. It's what I know how to do and I love doing it."

"You barely remember how!"

"It's coming back to me just like everything else."

"There are a million other professions! Pick one!" she pleads a little desperately, "You passed the LSAT! You can still go to law school!"

"I don't want to go to law school, Jane."

"You used to! Maybe you could try it and see how you feel."

"I don't have a calling for law school. That's not where my heart is. I'm an investigator. I'm a police officer. That's how I feel. That's what I want."

"No! Absolutely not! I don't agree with it!"

Before I can say anything in response to that, Mom is already inserting her own two cents. "Well, it hardly has anything to do with you, does it, Jane?" she considers in a superior tone. She has no way of knowing that my relationship with Jane has changed drastically in the last hour. Then again, knowing my mother, even if she _were_ aware she wouldn't give a damn.

I suspect that Jane is aware of the same thing which accounts for her insulted reaction to Mom's statement. "I…I beg your pardon? With all due respect, Mrs. Cordero, I care about Michael as much as you do! I don't want to see him hurt again!"

"But you're not his wife anymore, Jane. You're barely even his friend. You don't get a say in this."

"Mom, please don't…"

"Don't you _dare_ defend her to me!" she snaps, "I'm not blind, Michael! I know what's going on here and I don't approve of it!"

"Will you just let me-,"

"No! I don't want to hear it! She's the reason this whole thing happened to our family in the first place!"

"What?" Jane and I incredulously exclaim at the same time before I demand on my own, "How is any of this _her_ fault?"

"The only reason you became so obsessed with finding that Sin Rostro character in the first place was because of Jane! _She_ brought that criminal into our lives! Her and precious baby daddy!"

"That's enough, Mom," I warn her tautly, "Jane drove all the way out here tonight to support me, to support _you_. Don't disrespect her like this. Please."

She shakes her head at me, as if she's saddened and disappointed by my request. "I don't understand why you keep letting her do this to you, Michael. I really wish you could let her go."

"Maybe it's best if I leave now," Jane interjects as my mother and I silently face off in mutual glares of aggravation, "Your mom is right, Michael," she adds quickly before I can argue, "It's been a long, sad day and everyone is on edge. I don't want to cause any more stress so I'm just gonna head home. My condolences again, Mrs. Cordero."

She's already out the door before I can say a word in protest. I'm waylaid from my intention to follow her by my mother, who seems to think chasing after her will be the biggest mistake of my life. After I make it clear to her that I don't want to waste any more time locked in a fruitless argument with her, I'm out the door.

Jane has reached the curb by the time I run out of the house to catch up with her. Thankfully, she stops short of opening her car door when she hears me calling her name. She glances up just as I reach the end of the walk. It takes me a few seconds to catch my breath before I can speak but, when I do, I say the first words that spring from my heart.

"I don't want you to go just yet."

Jane favors me with a sad smile over the hood of her car. "Your mother feels differently."

"I'm sorry about that," I tell her lamely, "About her, about what she said in there. It wasn't fair to you."

"Don't apologize. She…she has a right to feel how she does. She's been through a lot lately."

"So have you," I point out softly.

"Yeah, well I haven't lost a child. I can't imagine who I would become if Mateo died. Your mom is doing the best she can right now so…cut her some slack, okay?"

Her ability to sympathize with others even when they've done her wrong is admirable and makes me love her even more than I already do. "I guess you have a point," I sigh plaintively.

"Of course I do. I'm always right."

My answering smile is short-lived. "So I guess things didn't get better between the two of you after I 'died,' huh?"

"Well…our relationship improved a little and then…" She gives up the explanation with a lamenting sigh. "No, not so much."

We exchange an ironic bit of laughter at that, which helps to relieve the lingering tension from the recent confrontation with my mother. She is so beautiful standing there dappled in the moonlight that I can't look away from her. As we stand there smiling at each other as if no one else in the world exists, it feels natural to, once again, speak the words that are foremost in my heart.

"Do you think I could come over there and kiss you goodbye?"

"I would love for you to come over here and kiss me goodbye."

I don't waste any time closing the distance between us to pull her against me and eagerly press my lips to hers. We kiss for a long time, breathless and lingering, almost as if we're afraid it's going to be the last time. When it's over we remain in each other's arms, still nibbling and nuzzling, foreheads touching, hearts beating in sync. I would gladly freeze the moment in time if I could.

"I really wish your mom didn't hate me," Jane sighs despondently.

"My mother doesn't hate you. She strongly dislikes you."

Jane swallows a snort of laughter. "That's not much better."

I lightly kiss the tip of her nose. "Well, would it help to know that _I_ like you?" I tease only to sober an instant later when I add, "Actually, I really love you, Jane." She gasps and rears back from me with a stunned expression. "What?"

"It's just…this is the first time you've said it to me since you came back," she breathes, "I mean, I already knew that's how you felt but…it's still nice to hear the words."

"I love you, Jane," I say again. I'm surprised to discover that voicing those three little words aloud has lifted a heavy burden from my heart. Now I can't stop. "I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you too." She presses a quick kiss to my lips. "God, I love you!" She punctuates that statement with yet another kiss before she sighs, "But I think we definitely need to talk."

"I know that."

"And I don't want you to become a cop again."

"I know that too."

"And we need to figure out where we're going to go from here and what we want our future to be." I can't help it. I slip my fingers into the tousled hair at her temples and frame her face for yet another searching kiss. She's laughing when we finally come up for air. "Why did you do that?"

"I just remembered how alike we are sometimes and how much you like to make plans. I used to think your need to organize everything into lists was kind of sexy. If I'm honest…I still think it's sexy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you should know that I'm also very good at being spontaneous now too."

I can't help but think about what happened between us earlier. "Oh, I'm well aware," I reply wryly, which causes her to dissolve into a fit of laughter, "God, I've missed that too."

"What?"

"Your laugh."

"No one makes me laugh like you do, Michael."

It feels almost like a biological imperative that I kiss her again but when I make the attempt she ducks her head. When I react with a confused frown of disappointment she jerks her head toward the house. That's when I notice my mother in the window, glaring daggers at us both as she peeks through the curtains. At least she has the decency to withdraw when she realizes we've seen her.

"She's been watching us for the last five minutes," Jane says, "You should probably get back inside before her head explodes."

Defiantly, I drop an affectionate kiss to her nose before I release her. "I'll talk to her. She's going to have to get used to you being in my life because that's not going to change."

"No, don't do that," Jane urges, surprising me with her response. "She has enough to deal with right now. She doesn't need you shoving me down her throat. In fact, we should probably slow things down between us, at least until after Billy's memorial service."

Her words send me unexpectedly crashing back down to earth. "Are you serious?"

"It'll be temporary. I'm just thinking about what you said…that us being together was going to affect other people. We need to be mindful of that."

And by "other people" I can only assume she means Rafael Solano and the thought really aggravates me because it only intensifies the vengeful feelings I have towards him. I'm getting a little sick of everything I want in my life having to be put through the Rafael Solano filter. Of course, I don't say that any of that out loud. It's well past one o'clock in the morning and I don't want to get into an argument with her or deal with any heavy discussion when she's facing more than a two hour drive home.

So, instead of calling her out on my suspicions, I reply, "Yeah. You're right. We should probably cool it for now."

"I'm not breaking up with you, Michael. Don't take it like that."

"I'm not," I deny even if I am sort of taking it like that. "Go on. Get out of here. You'll be dragging tomorrow as it is."

She slips back into my arms for another languid kiss. "I love you. I'll call you when I get home."

I stand on the sidewalk and wave her off as she drives away, somehow feeling more uncertain now than I had before she'd arrived.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen (Jane POV)**

I tiptoe into the house at half past four o'clock to find a surprise waiting for me. After I click on the nearest lamp, I have to suppress my reflexive squeal of fright when light floods the room and I discover my mother sitting there on the couch waiting for me. The shock of it sends me careening back into the door. I press my hand against my rapidly thumping heart as I regain my bearings.

"My God, you scared the hell out of me! Why were you lurking in the dark like that?"

Earlier that evening, Rafael had wasted no time calling Mom to complain after I'd stormed out of the house. She had called me at least half a dozen times while I was on my way to Fort Myers. Although I had dutifully texted to assure her that I had arrived safely and would call her back as soon as I was able, she still ended up calling an additional half dozen times anyway. It wasn't until I was on my way home that I learned that Mom decided to stay at the house with Rafael and Mateo to await my return since Abuela had gone on a date with her green card husband Jorge. But, by now, I know that Abuela must be home so I have no idea why Mom is still here and I tell her so.

She fixes me with an irritated frown. "I have a better question. Where have _you_ been? It's almost five o'clock in the morning, Jane! You said you'd be here thirty minutes ago!"

"I _was_ here," I tell her, kicking off my shoes before moving to flop down on the couch, "I've been out in the car talking to Michael this whole time." Before Mom can begin to grill me about the details of our conversation and I can tell that she wants to the instant I mention Michael's name, I ask, "Where's Rafael?" A quick inspection of the living room and kitchen doesn't reveal any sign of him. I can't say that I'm disappointed or surprised by his absence. Right now, I'm too angry with him for civil conversation. "Did he leave?"

"Yeah. Hours ago. He wanted to take Mateo home with him when he left but I managed to change his mind which wasn't easy," she recounts, "He's pretty pissed off at you, you know."

I roll my eyes with blatant disregard. "Well, the feeling is _very_ mutual right now."

"Why? What happened? Rafael said you took off after Michael tonight."

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to go on a foul mouthed rant. Of course, Rafael would make himself seem like the victim in this whole scenario. No mention at all of how he had harassed and insulted Michael or disrespected me. No, it's always big, bad Jane who hurt his feelings again by running after Michael. On some subconscious level, I know I'm probably being unfair to him but, as of this moment, I'm too infuriated to be magnanimous. I'm aggravated further because he had the nerve to misrepresent the situation to my mother. I'm surprised steam isn't pouring from my ears. I actually have to mentally recite my C.A.L.M. acronym before I can answer Mom and, even then, my words still have bite.

"Is that what he told you? That I just ran out of here for no reason?"

"Actually, he didn't say much about what happened at all other than you left to be with Michael. He seemed really angry…and hurt. I got the impression that he didn't want to talk so I didn't push him." Mom pins me with a narrowed, warning glare. "But don't you _dare_ tell me you don't want to talk about it either! I don't get it! I thought you guys were getting along again."

"As long as he can pretend Michael doesn't exist, we get along just fine," I reply tartly, "It's too bad for him that I can't do that."

"Okay, that's it. You have to tell me exactly what happened."

Part of me doesn't want to talk about it but not for the reason she might think. I'm still basking in the afterglow of the time I spent with Michael tonight and I'm not quite ready to divulge that to anyone. For the first time since he came back, everything feels right between us. The quiet intimacy we shared is too precious and private to discuss in casual conversation. I want to keep it to myself just a little longer. However, I know my mother. She will not stop badgering me until she has answers and so I decide to tell her at least _part_ of the story.

"Okay, so you know about the body that was made to look like Michael, the one that we buried when we thought he was dead?"

Understandably, Mom scowls at this opening because she can't understand what it has to do with our current discussion. "Jane, this is morbid. Why are we talking about a dead body right now?"

"I'll get to that in a second," I assure her, "Do you remember what I told you about it?"

"Yeah, that there's an investigation going on to figure out who the dead guy was."

"Well, the police have figured it out. They ran DNA on the body and now they know the man's identity."

"And?"

"It was Michael's brother Billy."

" _What?_ " All her exasperation with me evaporates it that moment. "Are they sure it's him?"

"It was a positive identification. Someone killed him, Ma, and then set it up so that we would think that he was Michael."

"Oh my God… Oh my God, that's awful!" She leans over to pull me into a brief, but heartening hug. "Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry. That's terrible news. Michael must be so devastated."

"He is," I confirm softly, "He's actually really conflicted right now because he and Billy didn't have a close relationship at all. You remember that he didn't even come to our wedding. They were always in a fight, always at odds with each other. In a lot of ways, they were more like strangers than brothers."

"You mean kind of like Mom and Cecilia?"

"Yeah. Kind of like that. But Michael still feels so guilty about his death because he thinks that Billy was targeted because of him."

"Is that possible?" Mom wonders aloud.

I jerk a reluctant nod of confirmation. "The more we learn, the more it seems likely that Sin Rostro is behind Michael's kidnapping and everything that happened after that," I tell her, "It was a lot for Michael to digest all at once. He was such a mess tonight. He needed a friend."

"And that's why you left? You wanted to support him."

"I wanted to be there for him, you know? But Rafael completely blew it out of proportion! He actually accused me of _abandoning_ Mateo!"

"Oh no…"

"And it didn't have to be that way! Michael called me first," I recount, "But Rafael answered my phone and then he and Michael got in a huge fight which made Michael not want to tell me what happened. I knew something was wrong. I kept calling him after that but he wouldn't pick up."

"So you decided to drive all the way to Fort Myers in the middle of the night because Michael wouldn't answer his phone?"

There is a thread of scolding in her tone that has me hopping on the defensive. "Well, when you say it like that it sounds ridiculous!"

She doesn't say so out loud but the look she gives me confirms that is exactly what she thinks. Although it's apparent she doesn't understand my motives, thankfully Mom is kind enough not to chastise me or make me feel like an idiot. Instead, she regards me with a strangely speculative expression, as if some sort of realization has suddenly dawned on her.

"What?" I ask, feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Obviously Michael wasn't expecting you tonight," she observes with an odd degree of intensity, "What did he do when you showed up on his doorstep unannounced?"

"He was surprised to see me but he was so upset he didn't really give me a hard time about it. I think he was glad I was there because he had someone to talk to."

"And that's all you did tonight? Just talk?"

The suspicion I detect in her words causes me to bristle a bit. Even though she's absolutely right in her assumption, I'm still offended on principle that she would assume that anything intimate had happened between Michael and me given the circumstances. I suppose that's because there's this tiny voice in the back of mind that accuses me of taking advantage of Michael's vulnerability tonight. That voice wonders if he would have even had sex with me at all if he hadn't been grieving for his brother.

When I consider the fact that I know nothing about his trip to Houston or his relationship status with Lorena, I start to second guess myself even more. I know that he loves me and that he enjoys having sex with me but, beyond that, I'm not really sure what's going on in Michael's head. There are at least half a dozen conversations we should have had before falling into bed tonight. But I don't want to think about my lapse in judgment. I don't want to feel guilty about what happened tonight at all. So, I firmly shake off those nagging doubts before I address my mother again.

"Yeah, we talked. He had a lot on his mind."

"Really?"

"Yes! Why are you making a big deal about it?"

"Because your t-shirt is on backwards."

That blunt pronouncement manages to kick down my prickly defenses, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. Horrified, I glance down to discover that my mother's charge is correct and that fact has escaped me for more than two hours now. It was bad enough that I had been forced to go without underwear but at least that I could hide. This was much, much worse.

In my haste to get dressed back at Michael's house, I hadn't even realized I was putting my clothing on backwards. Even Michael hadn't noticed, despite all the crazy kissing we did before I left. I groan aloud in sheer mortification. All I can do is cover my face with my hands and whimper in shame.

"Oh my God!" But my humiliation only worsens when I remember that I actually face-offed with Michael's mother in the same state. " _Oh my God_ …"

"So you had sex with Michael tonight?" Mom surmises in a matter-of-fact tone.

I jerk self-consciously at the question. "I…I…well we…um…what I'm saying is…"

"Did you?"

Honestly, it's like I'm facing the Spanish Inquisition with her. It's two words, one question and I feel like I'm under the heat lamps. The intensity of her stare makes me squirm. Even if I had the wherewithal to lie she would pester the truth out of me.

"Yes. Yes, I slept with him." She utters my name in a longsuffering groan. "I'm not sorry about it," I burst out in defiance, "I love him, Ma. And he loves me. We want to be together."

I'm actually surprised with she accepts that announcement with little more than a weary sigh. "I can't say I didn't see it coming. You two have been getting so close lately that it felt inevitable."

I easily discern what she's left unspoken. "But you don't approve."

"It's not that I don't approve," she sighs, "I love Michael and I've always loved him _for_ you, Jane. But a lot has changed in five years. You're not the same people anymore. You fell in love with someone else and so did he! Rafael is your best friend for goodness sake! That's a huge thing. Are you sure you're not getting caught up in the past with Michael?"

Yet, again those niggling uncertainties rear their ugly heads. But not for myself. I know without reserve that I am in love with Michael for all the right reasons. But Michael? He came to the realization of his feelings for me kicking and screaming. Falling in love with me was not a welcome change for him and I can't help but worry that he might still have doubts. Even tonight, I could sense that there was something weighing heavily on his mind but he seemed reluctant to discuss it with me. At the time, I told myself that his reserve was a result of his grief but now, talking with my mother, I'm not so sure.

"If you have any doubts, Jane," Mom interjects, breaking through my melancholy thoughts, "Now is the time to address them before you and Michael get too deep."

"We're already deep, Mom, and I don't have any doubts."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Michael and I haven't changed as much as you might think," I tell her, "Yes, Rafael is my best friend but so is Michael. Just because I fell in love with someone else that doesn't mean I stopped loving Michael, because I didn't. I _never_ have. And the reasons I loved him then are the same reasons I love him now."

"But how can you know who he is now, Jane?" Mom argues, " _He_ doesn't even know! I'm afraid you might not be thinking this through."

"I know all I need to know. I know that he's smart and intuitive and compassionate and funny and that he loves my son. Mom, he loves Mateo so much! I know that when I'm with him, I feel like a complete person again. I feel like the person I used to be before I lost him."

"Oh, Janie…"

"I'm happy. I want this."

"And what about Rafael? Not even six months ago you wanted all of these things with him."

I duck my head guiltily. "I know."

"And now that's all changed for you?" She snaps her fingers. "Just like that? You're not in love anymore? You don't have any residual feelings for him whatsoever?"

"It wasn't just like that," I deny, "Honestly, my feelings have been changing this whole time. It's been happening gradually ever since I found out about Michael. It wasn't anything Rafael did or didn't do. It was all me. _I'm_ the one who changed, not him."

"You know this is going to hurt him, right?"

"I know that," I acknowledge in a mournful mumble, "I know he's going to be angry and I know that his first instinct will probably be to use Mateo against me."

Mom isn't quite as accepting of that possibility as I am. "That's not fair!" she rages, "I don't care how angry and hurt he is. If he tries that, I will personally kick his ass!"

"Mom, you couldn't fluff a pillow right now, much less kick someone's ass," I deadpan, "And it's fine. As mad as I am at him right now, I understand his motivation. His biggest fear this whole time has been that I'll leave him again for Michael and that's exactly what's going to happen and I _hate_ that. I hate to cause him pain. But it's not fair to give him false hope either."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to tell him and Mateo how I feel about Michael," I vow, only to amend in further explanation, "…as soon as we're past Billy's memorial service. After that, I'll tell them everything."

Mom isn't too keen on that idea. She is already shaking her head before I even finish my sentence. "You shouldn't wait. The sooner you tell Rafael and clear the air, the better," she advises.

"I can't do that. Michael is going to be burying his brother soon. The last thing he needs is to have Rafael in his face."

"Yeah, I know," Mom sighs, "So what now?"

"Well…now I'm going to take a shower because I have to be at work in three hours. Yay me."

Mom reaches over to give my knee a sympathetic pat. "I'll brew a pot of coffee."

To pass the time while the coffee brews, because I know a warm shower at this point will only make me sleepier, I decide to text Michael a good morning message because he's on my mind right now. I don't expect him to answer because we said our final goodnights to each other more than an hour ago and I'm sure he's long since fallen asleep. However, I'm surprised when my phone chimes a message less than a minute later.

 _Why are you still awake?_

I frown at my screen and peck out a quick response. _Why are you awake? At least I have an excuse._

 _What excuse?_

 _I have to be at work in less than three hours,_ I text back cheekily _, What's the point of going to bed now?_

He responds with a sad-face emoji followed by: _I feel guilty._

 _Why? I'm the one who made the drive._

 _You could have stayed the night here._

 _And risked your mom having a stroke? No, thank you. Besides Mateo would have freaked if he woke up in the morning and I wasn't here._

I wait for his responding text message but I'm surprised when my ring tone chimes instead. I answer the phone quickly but not before my mother favors me with a knowing smile. "Hey," I greet him in a hushed tone so Mom won't overhear me, "Good morning."

"Good morning," he greets softly in return, "I wanted to apologize to you."

"Apologize? For what?"

"Well, I was kind of pissed off at you earlier."

"You were?"

I'm surprised by the admission because he has been nothing less than sweet and affectionate with me. Even when we spoke an hour earlier, he had spent a good portion of that conversation fervently expressing how much he loved and missed me. I would have never suspected he was angry with me at all based on his behavior and I tell him so.

"Well, maybe 'pissed off' is too strong a phrase," he amends, "I was _irritated_ with you."

"Why?" The welcome aroma of coffee begins to permeate the living room and I mouth a request to Mom to bring me a cup.

"Because you wanted to keep our relationship quiet," he says, "I took it personally because I thought it was about Rafael but it's not. It's because of Mateo."

"Of course it is, Michael. Raf and I are done. I told you that."

"And then I saw you out to dinner with him the other night," he reminds me in a mildly accusatory tone.

At that moment, Mom delivers my coffee and I mumble a quick "thank you" before shooing her away. From the corner of my eye I note her lingering nearby as I respond to Michael. "The other night was no big deal. That was just dinner."

"Really? Then why is he naming his hotel after you?"

After nearly spilling my coffee all over myself, I set aside my mug and gape at the phone in disbelief. "Wait a minute. How do you know that?"

"Mateo told me the other night. You were standing right there. Don't you remember?"

The moment he asks the question, I do. I must have subconsciously blocked it from my mind because it had been so horrifying. I sigh with the recollection. "Yeah. He did, didn't he?"

"Besides that, you _do_ realize that he is still taking your phone at night to call me, right?"

I growl in laughing frustration. I have hidden that phone in half a dozen places to keep it out of my son's hot little hands and he still manages to find it every, single time. I think I might have to lock away at this point. "That little klepto!"

"I think Mateo is a detective in the making. You gotta find a better hiding place, babe."

The atmosphere is so lighthearted between us that I can't help but wish it could go on forever but, our laughter is regretfully transitory. All too soon I find myself sobering enough to say, "I still can't believe Mateo told you that."

"Why?" Michael challenges, "Because _you_ weren't going to tell me?"

"Because it's not going to happen. I told Rafael I didn't want him to do that."

"Yeah, because Rafael _always_ does what he's told."

"It doesn't mean anything, Michael," I whisper, "Not to me."

"But it does to Mateo," he utters in a rueful tone, "He's so excited about the idea of you and Rafael being together. I feel bad because I know we're going to hurt him."

"He will get over it. I promise," I reassure him, "He'll be disappointed at first but…he'll come around."

"Is it supposed to make me feel better to know that I'm something Mateo needs to get used to?"

I pause to take a sip of my coffee before responding. "It's going to take some time but once Raf and I explain to Mateo that we can't be a family in the way he wants, he will be more accepting of me and you."

"You think so?"

"I hope so," I sigh in uncertainty, "I guess we have to take it as it comes." He grumbles his grudging agreement to that. "Well, look on the bright side. You will have a much easier time winning over Mateo than I will winning over your mother."

"You do have a point there."

I don't want Patricia Cordero's continued animosity towards me to be a sticking point but it is. It really is. I'm not necessarily consumed by a need to have her like me but I do feel, after everything that's happened with Michael and his miraculous return, we could manage to put our differences aside. After all, I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with her son and giving him a few babies along the way. If that isn't motivation for peace, I don't know what is.

Unfortunately, I don't anticipate that happening any time soon. Right now, Patricia associates me with every bad thing that has happened to Michael in the last five years. Until she can get past that, I'm afraid that she and I aren't going to have anything more than a reluctant, cordial relationship. And while I'm determined not to let that bother me too much, it does make me sad, for Michael's sake and my own.

I put aside my coffee cup once more and shift upright on the couch, taking a breath before I finally ask Michael the question that's been plaguing me for the last hour. "Your mother knows we slept together tonight, doesn't she?"

"Oh yeah…and she is _not_ happy about it."

"My mom knows too by the way…also not happy."

"Should we be concerned about all of this unhappiness?" he wonders in a glum tone.

"In my case, my mom doesn't hate you. She's just worried." I mean to reassure him with the explanation but it doesn't quite work out as I planned. If anything, Michael is agitated further.

"Worried about what? Mateo? Rafael? What's the problem?"

"She thinks we're getting caught up in the past and moving too fast," I confess in a rush of words, "I guess she's worried that our feelings for each other aren't based on the present."

"And what do you think?" he asks me softly.

I detect a note of reservation in his words and I want to banish it right away. "I think," I say with a widening smile of contentment, "that I have everything I could possibly want right now."


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N - Just a friendly reminder to all my readers that this story is based on a telenovela. The course of true love _never_ runs smooth, so get ready.**

 **Chapter Seventeen (Michael POV)**

I solemnly contemplate my cleanly shaven reflection in the mirror as I straighten the knot in my tie.

My brother's memorial service is set to take place in less than an hour and several times this morning I've found myself smiling through my sorrow whenever I think of Jane. And each time that wave of happiness passes over me, it is immediately followed by shame. I'm overwhelmed by an odd mix of guilt and elation, swinging madly from one emotion to the other and then back again. Love and loss are so closely intertwined for me at the present time that I don't really know what I feel or how to define it. What I _do_ know is that I have been looking forward to seeing Jane's beautiful, smiling face all day and it is the one thing that has kept me going these last two days.

We haven't had very much time to talk. I've been so preoccupied with helping my parents with the arrangements for Billy's service that's it has been nearly impossible to spend a moment together, much less have a real conversation. When I haven't been busy with funeral preparations I've been at the police station, working closely with law enforcement to build a case against Rose Solano for my brother's murder. The remainder of my time has been spent in therapy sessions with Dr. Beavers, hoping to make sense of the increasingly vivid nightmares I've been having lately.

The more I begin to recall about my past, the greater my resentment towards Rafael Solano becomes, the more my idle subconscious seems to dwell on hurting him, sometimes even _killing_ him. I've dreamed about it more than once. Dr. Beavers remains adamant these growing inclinations are merely a latent reaction to my increasing awareness of just how much Rafael Solano has intruded on my life but it _feels_ like so much more than that. At times, the rage churning inside of me doesn't even feel like me at all but rather something altogether foreign, like something insidious growing inside of me.

That's not to say that the guy doesn't bug me. He does, particularly the sense of entitlement he seems to have when it comes to Jane. More than once he has made it clear to me that _I_ am intruding on his family and not the other way around. In his eyes, I'm insignificant, expendable. I don't even belong in Jane or Mateo's lives at all. That does very little to stir up in me feelings of respect for the guy. But before the past started becoming clearer to me, I could at least tolerate him. Now, I continually have to suppress the urge to punch him in the face whenever we're in the same room.

I haven't talked to Jane about what I'm feeling either, partly because I haven't had much opportunity but mostly because the idea of revealing my darkest, most secret thoughts to her makes me uncomfortable. I can't deny that I'm afraid of how she will react. For Jane, Mateo is her highest priority and he should be. Like it or not, Rafael is Mateo's father, he and Jane have history and he will always be in their lives. I don't doubt that Jane would have some reservations about us being together if she knew I was harboring such virulent, insidious hatred for Rafael. She wouldn't want that around Mateo and I get why she wouldn't but I also don't want to lose her.

So, the only option I have is to get my emotions under control as soon as possible. I've increased my sessions with Dr. Beavers from once a week to twice weekly, sometimes three times if I think I need it. I cannot, I _will_ not let my loathing for Rafael Solano get the best of me. I know that I've done that once before and it cost me everything I had. I won't make the same mistake a second time.

In the meantime, I'm trying to keep focused on the things for which I am thankful, the two foremost being Jane and Mateo. I want us to be the family we should have been five years ago. I want to make up for all the time we've lost. I'm working very hard to be patient on that front too, because Jane and I agreed to keep quiet about our relationship status until after Billy's memorial service had passed and emotions have settled down. It's not the most ideal situation but I was fully anticipating the delay given our complicated history.

Honestly, I'm okay with waiting because I know what our endgame will be. As soon as we make our relationship public, I'm going to ask Jane to marry me…again. It's almost a formality at this point because, in my heart, she and I are already married. Being together is the easiest part of this whole situation. Navigating the hurt feelings, disappointment and resentment that will follow after we come out as a couple will be the tricky part. But I know Jane and I will get through it. After all, we've survived worse.

"Are you ready to go?" I glance around in surprise to find my mother leaning in the threshold of my bedroom door. After I grab my jacket and shrug into it, motherly instinct compels her to step forward to straighten my tie. "We should get going. The service starts in 45 minutes."

I lightly swat her away to reach for my wallet and car keys on the dresser. "Actually, I was thinking maybe we should drive separately today."

Recently, I decided to lease a car so that I could get back and forth between Fort Myers and Miami. The lack of freedom to go where I wanted when I wanted had been driving me nuts. I had been helpless and lost for long enough and I didn't want to depend on anyone else for anything if I could help it. Having a car had granted me a certain measure of freedom and I was choosing the exercise that freedom now.

Mom, however, is quite unhappy with the suggestion that we take separate cars and immediately calls me out on being petty. "Is this because of what I said about Jane last night?" she demands in a huff, "I would think you could appreciate my honesty, Michael! I didn't say I hated her. I said you're making a mistake by being with her again and you are."

"But you're not being honest," I retort angrily, "You're being unfair! You won't even give her a chance! Instead, you're still blaming her for mistakes she made in the past."

"I _have_ given her a chance. She broke your engagement and devastated you. And then I gave her another chance and… _you died_! And then I gave her _one more_ chance and she went right back to Rafael Solano! I'm afraid I'm all out of chances now."

"What happened to me isn't Jane's fault! You have to stop punishing her for moving on."

"That's not how I see it."

"And that's exactly the reason we shouldn't ride together because I can't listen to you badmouth her anymore."

"Really, Michael? You're going to pull this, today of all days?"

"That's _why_ I'm suggesting it. I don't want to fight with you, Mom. I know you're hurting. I don't want to make it worse."

"You avoiding me will make it worse," she insists quietly, "Listen, why don't we just table all the Jane discussion for now? We won't talk about her at all."

"She's going to be at the service, Mom," I warn her with some reluctance.

For a second, I think she's going to explode and I brace myself for it. But instead, she absorbs the news with nothing more than a deep, cleansing breath. "That's fine," she says and I can tell it pains her greatly to do it, "At least she'll be there to support you."

There is quite a turnout of support for Billy's memorial service. Unfortunately, I know that the large number of people isn't due out of respect for my brother. He had made more enemies than friends during his brief time on earth. However, it is testimony to just how much love and support my parents and even _I_ have garnered over the years. We have a bevy of family members, dear friends and coworkers who show up to offer their condolences. But the entire time I'm hugging people and shaking hands and murmuring polite "thank yous", I am scanning the crowd for Jane.

I spot her and her mother just as they come walking in through the double doors of the church. An incredible sensation of warmth and happiness fills my chest at the mere sight of her. It almost feels like my heart is glowing. That's the only way I can describe it. Jane Villanueva makes my heart glow.

Both she and Xiomara are dressed appropriately in black like most of the mourners present but it is clear from the expressions on their faces as they look about that they feel out of place. I start to excuse myself from the group I'm standing with to rescue them from their discomfort when I see Rafael Solano step inside behind them. And just like that…that warm glow I was feeling dissipates and is replaced with gnawing aggravation and something else, something sinister that eats away at my gut. Something I don't want to acknowledge.

Almost mechanically, I locate my mother to inform of her Jane's arrival and together we head towards the entrance to greet her and her companions. Jane catches sight of me just as Mom and I make our approach. She offers me a shy smile. I offer her one back. For a second, it's easy to shut out everyone else around us, that is until my mother speaks.

"Jane," she greets and she almost spits her name out like a curse, "Thank you so much for coming."

I watch as my girlfriend and my mother exchange strained smiles. Jane appears at a loss as to what she should do. After darting an uncertain glance over at me, she starts to reach out to embrace my mother only to think better of it at the last second when my mother cringes in reaction. Finally, after a beat of awkward silence, she says, "Thank you for letting me be here. I want to support you and Michael however I can." She then gestures behind her to Xiomara and Rafael, obviously desperate to take the attention off of herself. "Of course you remember my mother and Rafael."

"Yes. I remember them from the wedding."

Both Rafael and Xiomara take that opportunity to mumble their own condolences but it is the moment when Rafael addresses _me_ directly that makes me grind my teeth. "Listen, Michael, I didn't know about your brother the other night when we talked," he says, "I'm sorry for your loss. I wouldn't have been so hard on you otherwise."

"Thanks," I reply in a tone that is anything but grateful.

Jane is quick to wedge herself between us with a bright, artificial smile. "And we can finally put all of that behind us, right?"

Much to her disappointment, I'm sure, Rafael and I don't relax our death glares at each other one iota.

"The service is going to start soon," Mom interjects a little desperately, as if she senses the rising hostility between Rafael and me and is seeking to diffuse it, "Maybe we should think about finding our seats."

She surprises me when she directs Jane and her party towards the front of the church and says that they can be seated on the pew directly behind my family. I'm in the midst of trying to puzzle out her motives for doing that when I start down the aisle towards my seat. Jane falls into step beside me with Rafael and Xo trailing close behind us.

"You okay?" she whispers.

It's a loaded question that evokes a myriad of emotions within me but I respond with a casual shrug. "I'm as well as can be expected, I guess."

"Since it seems like your mom is in a generous mood, do you think it would be okay if I sat with you and your family?

"Are you sure Xo won't mind?" I asked with feigned indifference, "Or _Rafael_?"

But evidently my tone isn't as nonchalant as I'd hoped because Jane appraises me with a concerned sideways glance. "Does it bother you that he came with me today, Michael?" she asks in a furtive under-breath.

"I don't understand why he had to come at all," I reply discretely just as we reach my designated aisle, "I guess I wonder what that means."

Having said the final word on that, I scoot down into my seat of the pew, thinking that will be the end of it. It's not. Jane slides down into the empty space next to me. The moment she does both of my parents lean forward to survey me with questioning glances after they have taken their own seats but I deliberately ignore their stares.

"You're making a scene," I chastise Jane through clenched teeth.

"Well, you're being petulant," she retorts through clenched teeth as well, "I didn't ask him to come, you know! He volunteered."

"You couldn't have told him 'no?'" I hiss.

"He's here to offer his support. That's all. He really felt bad about going off on you the other night."

"Sure he did."

"Raf isn't a bad guy, Michael. I think the two of you could be friends if you tried."

The suggestion is so ludicrous that I actually snort with laughter which, unfortunately, draws several curious stares our way. Self-consciously I wait for the attention to die down before I speak again. "Rafael and I are not going to be friends," I tell her tautly, "And my brother's funeral isn't the place to discuss it!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

We're prevented from any further bickering when the service begins. Mom, Dad and I each take our turns speaking for Billy. We reminisce on the good times we shared as a family, before Dad's affair, before the divorce, before Billy's drug abuse and life of petty crime. It's only as I'm speaking that I recognize that all of those good memories are from long, long ago, when I was barely out of my teens and Billy was still in elementary school. The realization saddens me. The happy memories beyond that point don't even exist.

By the time I return to my seat I am overcome with regret. Regret for the time I lost with my brother, for all the missed opportunities to repair our relationship. Regret for my parents because they will never have another chance to tell Billy how much they loved him. And regret for my earlier crankiness with Jane, that I could even be irritated with her at all when she had come here today to be my anchor. Those few moments when I had been recounting a happy childhood and family life that was gone too soon were a stark reminder of the precious relationship I have with Jane and Mateo.

They are my family now. I don't want to take them for granted the way my father had taken _us_ for granted. I don't want to repeat his mistakes. But, sometimes I wonder how it had all started, how had developed a lack of appreciation for the life he had? Had he found my mother lacking in some way? Had he forgotten all the reasons he had fallen in love with her in the first place? Did he suddenly wake up one morning and realize being a husband and father was not for him? I can't let that happen to me too. I can't live his life. I won't let myself forget what Jane means to me and why.

And with that resolve, I can feel my irritation with her fade away. In the grand scheme of things, Rafael being there wasn't important. So what if he came with her today! So what if they were friends and always would be! _I_ am the one who will be privileged enough to spend the rest of my life with her and I need to remember that. I need to cherish what I have.

Though I can feel the tension radiating off of her body as the service continues, a sure sign that's she's irritated with me, I reach down between us to feel for her hand. At the first sensation of my fingers brushing against palm, Jane stiffens in reaction. Her eyes remain fixed ahead. Her mouth is set in a tight, grim line. But what I especially notice is that she doesn't pull away from me. When I lace my fingers with hers she actually relaxes instead. I feel her give my hand a light squeeze and though she doesn't turn her head to look at me then I can see the glimmering of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. We sit there, discretely holding hands, for the remainder of Billy's service.

After the "amen" is said and I'm forced to release Jane's hand, I stand with my parents to greet the crowd of mourners waste no time ling up at my family's pew to offer their condolences and voice their concern regarding the "bizarre" circumstances of Billy's death. They surround me and my parents as we make our way out into the aisle and, in the sea of people, I lose track of Jane in the shuffle and my parents as well. I'm trying to divide my attention between acknowledging various commiserations and looking for Jane when I feel someone tug at my elbow. I glance around to find her standing right next to me.

I favor her with a relieved smile. "Hi. I thought I'd lost you for a moment."

"Never," she vows, her dark eyes shining, "Do you think I could borrow you for five minutes?"

Following her request, I politely excuse myself from the small circle of friends surrounding me and dutifully follow Jane back into the small corridor that leads off to the bathrooms. Once we reach our destination, she pulls me over into a corner where we will be shielded from the view of anyone who might go walking past. We can still hear the conversation drifting from the main part of the church but, for the most part, we are hidden away from any possible spectators. I doubt that Jane has brought me here by accident.

"I can't make out with you at my brother's funeral," I tell her, straight-faced.

Jane smacks my shoulder in mock affront. "Ew! That's not why I brought you back here, Michael!"

"Then why?"

Her expression softens with love and concern. "Are you okay?"

"You mean about the funeral or about Rafael being here?"

"Both, I guess."

"The funeral is what it is," I tell her in a rather dispassionate tone, "My brother is dead but, in a lot of ways, that's been true for years anyway and now we have to come to terms with it. The one good thing that came out of this whole ordeal is that my parents finally have some closure. He's at peace now and so are they."

"And what about you? Are you at peace?"

"I'll be at peace when Sin Rostro is charged with Billy's murder and spends the rest of her natural life rotting in a jail cell for it."

"Michael…"

"I'm not saying I'll be the one to do it," I interject quickly because I suspect she's about to go on an "all the reasons you shouldn't be on the police force" rant, "But I _do_ want to see that justice is done. That's all."

"Maybe I could go visit Rose in prison, try to get her to con-,"

"—Not happening," I burst out before she can finish that statement, "I can handle Rose. I _will_ handle her. I want you as far away from this as possible."

"That's impossible. Rose is Rafael's stepmother and Rafael is Mateo's father. I'm involved in this whether you want me to be or not," she argues, "Let me help you."

I shake my head regardless of how persuasive I find her offer. "No. Not this way."

She nibbles her lower lip pensively, as if she's trying to decide if she wants to acquiesce or not. Finally, she sighs in defeat and says, "Okay. If you won't let me help you with Sin Rostro, at least let me put your mind at ease about Rafael."

"Jane, I don't want to talk about Rafael."

"But we should. He's the elephant in the room and we've been avoiding him for days."

"That's one way to put it," I mumble.

"Are you still angry with me?"

I balk at the very suggestion. "You mean because of Rafael? No. Of course not."

"Michael, if I had known that his being here would upset you so much, I would have asked him not to come," she insists ardently, "It just seemed easier to tell him 'yes' when he asked because I didn't want him to question me about it if I had said 'no.'"

"It's fine," I reassure her sincerely, "I was annoyed at first but now I'm over it. I guess I was a little disappointed, that's all. I've been looking forward to seeing you for the past two days and when I saw him too…it was kind of a letdown."

"So does that mean you're not happy to see me after all?"

I'm unable to resist the sweet, pouty face she makes at me and I'm compelled pull her closer so that I can kiss her. She melts into my body, parting her lips for the gentle stroke of my tongue. I kiss her with every ounce of passion that's been welling inside of me for two days. When I finally pull away from her, we are both a little breathless and glassy eyed.

"I thought you said you didn't want to make out with me at your brother's funeral," she teases me in wry reminder.

"There are exceptions to every rule, Jane. And, for the record, I am very happy to see you. The last two days have felt like two _decades_. I've missed you so much."

That earns me yet another kiss, this time initiated by her. "I've missed you too."

"Maybe I could take you out to dinner tonight. Are you interested?"

She blinks at me in surprise. "You mean like a date?"

"No. Not _like_ a date at all. I mean an actual, for real, dinner and a movie date. I, Michael Cordero, am asking you, Jane Villanueva, to go out with me."

"Yes," she replies without reserve.

"Yes?"

"Absolutely yes."

"But you don't even know where we're going," I tease.

"Doesn't matter where we're going. You're going to be there so I know wherever it is has to be perfect." I smile at her gushy response, feeling rather gushy myself, and frame her face for yet another kiss.

"There you two are!" Jane and I quickly scramble apart in a guilty blur of deep blushing and self-conscious sputters. Though we make quite an effort to appear unruffled, Xiomara regards us both with a knowing expression. "For the record, this isn't what I would call being discreet. You're practically dry humping each other right here in the hallway."

I drop my head forward in sheer mortification while Jane moans out an embarrassed, "Ma!"

"I'm just saying, what if it had been Rafael who walked in on you instead of me? You guys are making out right in front of the bathrooms!" The mere mention of his name, not the mention the suggestion that we should take care with his feelings, has my aggravation stirring anew.

"We weren't making out," Jane denies in a sullen mumble which earns her a dubious grunt from Xiomara, "We were _talking_ with our faces very close!"

Xiomara remains unconvinced though she indulges Jane with a succinct, "Sure you were."

"Is there something you needed?" Jane demands.

"Everyone is starting to leave," she says before turning to address me directly, "Your parents are looking for you so you might want to get out there."

"That's right," I groan in consternation, "We're supposed to be heading over to the cemetery together for the burial." By mutual agreement, my parents and I had decided that we would make Billy's final interment a private occasion for family only and then meet our guests back at my mother's house for refreshments afterwards. I turn to address Jane, acutely aware of the dwindling time we have to spend together.

"Will you be there this afternoon?" I ask her.

"Do you _want_ me to be there, Michael?"

"Of course, I do."

"Well, I rode here with my mom and Raf so…" She glances over at Xiomara in a silent request for permission.

"It's fine with me," Xiomara replies, "But _I'm_ not your problem."

"You can just drop me off at the Corderos then and you and Raf can take the car back to Miami," Jane suggests as a solution, "That way he can relieve Abuela of babysitting duties so she can spend some time with Jorge." She glances at me for unspoken confirmation before she adds with complete confidence, "Michael can bring me home later."

After finalizing those plans, I drop another quick kiss to Jane's mouth (because what's the point in keeping up pretenses in front of Xiomara) and then rush to catch up with my parents. Of course, the instant they have me alone they both begin grilling me about where I disappeared to and what was happening between me and Jane. But because I'm well aware of their misgivings about Jane, I gently shut them down and offer them nothing beyond acknowledging that Jane offered her condolences.

It's not that I'm ashamed of my growing relationship with Jane. I'd gladly shout it from the rooftops if I could. But, in this instance, I know my happiness will be tempered by what I anticipate will be my parents' lukewarm response. Though my mother has been the more vocal of the two, they have both made it quite evident that they think getting back together with Jane again is a mistake for me.

The reasons are endless but the bottom line never changes. They are both afraid of me being hurt. I know that nothing other than time will ever convince them otherwise. So, I won't defend my love for Jane to them. In the long run actions will speak louder than words and our happiness together will serve as testimony that my parents were wrong.

Billy's burial then is an understandably tense affair. There is not much conversation between us as we watch the casket be lowered into its freshly dug grave. My dad holds my mother while she cries and I marvel over the fact that it's the first time I've seen them touch in almost two decades. It's ironic, I think, because Billy spent years after their divorce doing everything he could think of to get them to reconcile. In an odd sort of way, he accomplished his goal after all.

By the time we're all on our way back to Mom's, me and Mom riding together, and Dad following behind us, the atmosphere feels gloomy. Understandable given we all just attended a funeral but, considering my strained relationship with Billy, I was not at all prepared for how desolate I feel right now. I'm sure my expression must reflect that because my mom favors me with a bittersweet smile.

"It's going to be okay. At least he's not suffering anymore," she tells me gruffly, "That's a good thing."

I stare down at my hands with a mournful sigh, building the courage to voice the question that's been plaguing me ever since we found out that Billy was dead. "Do you wish that it had been me instead of him?"

"Michael! How could you even think such a thing?"

"You made peace with _my_ death, not with Billy's," I reason thickly, "and now you're grieving all over again and _I'm_ the one who's making you crazy."

"First of all, I _never_ stopped grieving for you. Second, this isn't an either or situation, Michael. If I had a choice in the matter, I wouldn't lose _either_ of my sons…but I don't have a choice."

"That's not what I'm asking you, Mom."

"If you're asking me if I'm sorry you came back, the answer is no, sweetheart. I'll never be sorry."

By the time we reach home, I'm in a much better mood than when I began this morning and I am eagerly looking forward to seeing Jane again. However, when I step inside and discover that Rafael is _still_ there some of my excitement wanes a little. I express my disappointment to Jane as she helps me prepare refreshments in the kitchen.

With a sullen scowl, I arrange drinks for the guests on a serving tray. "I thought he was going home."

"So did I," she says, sounding as disappointed as I feel, "But when he found out I wanted to stay he said he didn't mind staying as well."

"What about Mateo?"

"I called Abuela. She's fine with watching Mateo for the evening."

"How's Mateo handling it?"

"Um…he actually thinks Raf and I are on a date," she confesses with some hesitancy. I maintain laser focus on my task because I know if I look at her she's going to know exactly what I'm thinking right then. "He's still hung up on the idea of us being together," she remarks, more to herself than to me, "We need to tell him soon."

Despite my earlier resolve, I glance up at her in surprise. The drinks are instantly forgotten. "I…I thought you wanted to wait."

"I changed my mind," she replies with an offhand shrug, "I think the sooner we tell him…the sooner we tell them both, the better it will be for everyone."

I'm almost afraid to even take a breath because I'm half convinced that I couldn't have heard her correctly. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

I am struggling to temper my elation and resist the urge to yank her into my arms and kiss her senseless when my father suddenly pokes his head into the kitchen. "Mikey, you got someone here to see you."

After trading curious frowns with Jane, I dutifully follow my father from the kitchen. When we reach the living room and I see who is waiting for me, I stop in my tracks. And I immediately smile.

Lorena stands with my mother, the two of them chatting like they are the oldest of friends. She is wearing a dark blue dress with a black blazer in acknowledgement of the somber occasion but her face is wreathed with a happy smile. Her dark hair is swept back from her face and twirled into a neat bun at the crown of her head so I have an unobstructed view of her profile as she laughs with my mother.

Though it has been less than a week since I last saw her it almost feels like a lifetime has passed since then because so much has changed. What _hasn't_ changed, however, is how much I love and appreciate her and how much I've come to miss her this past week. The fact that she would take a leave of absence from work to fly to Miami just to support me exemplifies perfectly the kind of person she is.

She is loyal to a fault. My dearest friend. My closest ally and confidante. _Literally_ my hero.

I can't even put into words how happy I am to see her.


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: Dear readers, please remember over the course of these next few chapters that I love Cordueva to distraction and they are my OTP. I would never do them dirty. Also, please try not to hate me. *smooches***

 **Chapter Eighteen (Jane POV)**

He holds onto her like he never intends to let her go and I gotta say…it bugs me a little.

Lorena Diaz is even more beautiful in person than she is in her profile picture and _that_ bugs me too. She's dressed like a prim and proper schoolteacher right down to her sensible shoes and old fashioned hairdo but that doesn't make her any less gorgeous. High cheekbones, sleek, arched brows and full lips. She's model thin with a perfect smile complete with charming dimples. And it's painfully obvious that she loves Michael to distraction. It's also equally obvious that he loves her back. Safe to say that I hate her on sight.

Having an unobstructed view to their friendly and familiar interactions makes me intensely aware that Michael and I have yet to discuss the details of his Houston trip. He hasn't mentioned it and I haven't asked but now I'm finding myself _full_ of questions. In truth, he and I haven't discussed much of anything beyond how eager we are to have sex again. That is hardly the foundation on which to build a relationship and suddenly I'm wondering if we've missed some vitals steps in our reconciliation.

My insecurity over that possibility is only heightened by my mother and Rafael who have both been in my ear with their unwanted advice all morning. Mom hasn't missed a single opportunity to inform me that she thinks I'm moving too quickly. "You just got out of a serious relationship with your child's father," she kept saying, "Michael doesn't even have all of his memories back. He's in therapy. Maybe you should take it slow." The warning keeps swirling around and around in my head but then I look at Michael and I kiss him and I forget all the reason why her advice is so practical.

Rafael isn't making the situation any easier either. He seems adamant that we can rekindle our romance and that we absolutely should try to do so, if only for Mateo's sake. "We are a family," he kept saying, "We should be together." According to Rafael, right now I'm simply swept up in the miraculous feeling of Michael's return. He is certain that, eventually, I will realize that Michael and I have grown apart and then I will choose him.

There's a bit of irony in the realization that he and Michael have seemingly switched roles in our ongoing telenovela. Now it is Rafael who is sure that my feelings for Michael are an illusion. Now he's the one confident that I will come back to him. But the difference between then and now is that I'm not torn between them this time. I know exactly who I want and why I do.

Rafael says that he still loves me and that he believes deep down that I still love him as well and maybe he is right about that. Maybe I _will_ always love him, for Mateo, for being my rock when my entire world was falling down around me, for making me brave. We have a friendship that has stood the test and I don't want to let it go. But I know now that I will never love him the way he needs me to love him. I will never love him the way I love Michael. And I suppose that has always been our greatest obstacle. Our happily ever after can only happen in a world where Michael Cordero doesn't exist.

Of course, I am going to have a hell of a time convincing him of that especially when he is seeing firsthand the bond Michael and Lorena Diaz seem to share. I know very well that he sees what I see, the easy friendship between them and the effortless affection. Even his parents seem to adore her. And Michael? Michael looks at her like she's the actual sun which also makes my rapidly growing list of things that bug the absolute hell out of me. I can practically feel Rafael glaring a hole into my back as he witnesses all this and that only increases my aggravation.

It feels like I stand there for an eternity watching them together before Michael finally remembers my existence. "Jane, come over here," he beckons with a wide smile, "I want you to meet Lorie."

 _Well, look who finally remembered I'm alive._ I banish the sardonic thought as soon as it surfaces and plaster what I hope appears to be a genuine smile on my face. As I close the distance us I realize that Lorena Diaz is even more striking close up. Her skin is flawless and her eyes are wide, dark and adorned with thick, lush eyelashes. Mateo said he thought there was a resemblance but I honestly don't see it. Next to her, I can't help but feel a little homely.

And, apparently, she is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside because she actually greets me with a happy smile. She cries my name in exuberant excitement and then does something I am not at all prepared for. She hugs me. Just like that. She throws her arms around me like we've known each other for a lifetime. I am still in the process of deciding how I should react when she gushes, "I am so glad to finally meet you!" Thankfully, she releases me before I'm forced to hug her back. "Michael talks about you all the time," she says, "But none of his descriptions did you justice. You're even prettier in person."

"Thank you," I reply and my tone sounds a little wooden even to me, "I've heard a lot about you as well. It's nice to finally put a face with the name."

"I think you two are going to get along so great," Michael exclaims with a wide smile, "How long can you stay, Lorie?"

"As long as you need me," she says softly.

Patricia takes it upon herself to interject before Michael can reply. "Then you can stay forever." Everyone laughs at her joke, including me but it is forced on my part. Her next question to Lorena has me bristling as well. "Where are you staying?"

"At the Comfort Inn not too far from here. It's right off the interstate."

"You don't have to stay in a hotel," Patricia tells her, "Stay here as our guest." She presses more before Lorena can decline. "Please. I would be honored to have you stay, especially after everything you've done for my son. I insist."

Lorena smiles, her dimples deepening prettily and I feel like my head is going to explode. "Okay, Mrs. Cordero," she agrees, "I'd like that. Thank you."

"Please, call me Pat."

She's never invited _me_ to call her "Pat" but I try not to be too embittered about that. Instead, I'm determined to keep a level head. I remind myself that Lorena has merely come here as a friend to offer support to Michael during this difficult time. She's not after him. _She is not after him_. I keep telling myself that over and over but I'm not feeling convinced.

"So exactly how long _are_ you planning to stay, Lorena?" I ask with an overly bright smile. _Hopefully, you'll leave as fast as you came_ , I add in mental aside _._

"Actually, I took an indefinite leave of absence from work so…"

Michael regards her in stupefaction. "You did? Why would you do that?"

"For you, goofball. Why else?"

He reaches out to hug her yet again and as he does I catch a glimpse of Patricia watching me with a satisfied smirk. I grit my teeth, determined not to reveal just how discomfited I feel. But I literally have to bite my tongue when, after their embrace is over, Lorena reaches up to affectionately frame Michael's face between her hands.

"Thank God, you shaved that scraggly beard!" she exclaims as she rubs her hands over his cheeks, "I will not miss it in the least!"

"Hey! It was not scraggly!" Michael protests.

She ignores him and drops her hands before offering me a careless smile. "I suppose I have you to thank for this."

"Um…actually that would be me," Patricia pipes in, "And you're welcome."

Lorena playfully elbows Michael in his ribs and he has the nerve to giggle. Giggle! I'm seething, literally seething. "You'll have to tell me your secret," she laughs, "I've only been working on getting him to shave for the last four months!"

"I guess he just needed a mother's touch."

The fact I have nothing significant to add to the conversation makes me feel inadequate and I suspect that is a deliberate effort on Patricia's part. It's as if she's going out of her way to highlight how wonderful and perfect Lorena is while, at the same time, making it clear that she finds me sorely lacking. I can practically hear her say, "I like her soooo much better than you, Jane."

I don't want it to bother me. I don't want to care whether or not Patricia Cordero likes me but I do. I want her to like me again. I want her to love me because I love her son and I want to be with him for the rest of my life. It's a frustrating position in which to be in and it is made all the more frustrating because Michael seems somewhat oblivious to my anguish.

"Isn't this great?" he sighs with a wide, contented smile, wrapping his arms around all three of us in a thankfully brief group hug, "My three most favorite ladies all in the same room together. What more could a guy ask for?"

There is a sick sensation that settles in the pit of my stomach when Lorena, once again, reaches up to caress Michael's face. This time, however, her touch is not playful but soft and intimate. It takes every ounce of self-control and will I have not to go off on her right then. She doesn't seem to recognize any boundaries. In the short time she's been here I've watched her freely touch his arms and face and hands and hair. The way she smiles at him and the way he smiles back at her makes me feel if I'm intruding on a private moment.

"I'm sorry that it took your brother's death to finally get me on a flight to Miami," Lorena tells Michael, "I'm so, so sorry about what happened, Michael. I hate that you're carrying that burden."

Michael blinks back the tears that gather in his eyes. "I'm going to make sure his killer pays for what she did. That's what I'm focused on right now."

"I know you will," she whispers.

"I'm really glad you came," he says, "But you didn't have to do that. I know how difficult it is for you to rearrange your work schedule."

"I don't mind. You know that there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, right?"

"Right," he replies softly.

I am feeling increasingly like the third wheel in this situation when Patricia Cordero gladly worsens everything with her next words. "Michael, why don't you give Lorena a tour of the house?" she suggests and I could swear that she's side-eyeing me as she does, "After all, this is her very first time seeing where you live."

Michael is clearly game to the idea. "Don't expect too much," he warns Lorena with a laugh, "It's a one story rancher not a palatial mansion, so…"

"You briefly lived in a cardboard box, remember? Anything is a step up from that."

"In that case," Michael says, gallantly offering her his arm, "Let the tour begin." Yet again, I feel like an afterthought when he adds before departing, "I won't be too long, babe."

I watch with a thickening lump in my throat as they walk off together, arm in arm, laughing and joking together with ridiculous ease. Patricia chooses that exact moment to lean into my ear and whisper, "They make a very beautiful couple, don't they?"

My expression must reflect the stricken devastation I feel when I rush outside onto Patricia Cordero's porch with the intention of crying my eyes out because my mother follows me. I make a quick effort to wipe up my tears when I see her but, unfortunately, they are quickly replaced with more. Without a word, she steps forward to pull me into a gentle hug as the sobs come. I cry and cry until I feel like there's nothing left inside me and then I feel ridiculous when it's over because I'm not even sure _why_ I'm crying at all.

Maybe it simply hurts to know that Michael actually fell in love with someone else. That's _never_ happened before. I've always been the only one in his heart and, I think, I've possibly taken that fact for granted. Now I have to share his affections with someone else and I don't like it. I don't want it and I wonder if this is, perhaps, how Michael has felt about Rafael and me all of these years.

Once it's evident that I have a firmer grip on my emotions, Mom says, "So that's her. That's the girl that Michael used to love."

 _Used to_ might be too generous a statement but I don't correct her. "Yep. That is her."

"And?"

"And she's so perfect that even Patricia loves her."

"I don't think so. She just loves the fact that girl isn't you."

"That actually doesn't make me feel better, Mom."

"It should," she insists, "Michael's mother isn't fawning all over that girl because she thinks she's so wonderful. She's known her all of two minutes. She's doing it because she wants to get under your skin which means she knows that Michael wants _you_."

"Does he?" I lament carelessly, "I don't care that Patricia thinks Lorena is wonderful! I care that _Michael_ does!"

"Is that what's bothering you?" Mom falls back a step, her expression registering the full implication of what I've just said. "Oh my God…you're jealous," she surmises in a tone filled with awe, "You are actually jealous."

"Of course I am!" I cry in dismay, "Have you _seen_ her?"

"So she's pretty," Mom acknowledges with a shrug, "So what?"

"Ma, she could be on the cover of _Vogue_! I feel like a troll next to her!"

"You are not a troll, Jane! Where is this coming from? Michael chose you. He loves _you_."

"He loved her too," I mumble in reply, "What if he still does?"

"That's ridiculous."

"What if it's not?" I fret, "We never talked about his trip to Houston and what happened there. Maybe he has unresolved feelings for her."

"Have you asked Michael about it?"

It's a rather uncomplicated question but I still feel like she just asked me to summit Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen. Although it's difficult for me to answer her, I respond with the truth. "No. I haven't asked him. I…I think I'm a little afraid of his answer."

Mom grimaces. "Wait a minute. Aren't you the same woman who has been telling me all day that you and Michael are committed to being together?"

"And aren't you the same woman who has been telling me over and over that you think I'm rushing ahead without thinking?" I counter wrathfully, "You've been pushing me at Rafael this whole time!"

"I have not!"

"Admit it, Ma! You don't want me to be with Michael!"

"I will _not_ admit it because that is not how I feel at all!"

Her heated response has me snapping my mouth shut in reaction because I don't have a ready reply. She's taken the fire out of my argument so I have to take a moment to regroup. "But you've been telling me this entire time that you think I'm going too fast," I remind her finally, "You said it was too soon."

"That's because I don't want you to have any doubts when you move forward, Jane," she replies, "Whatever decision you make, it's going to affect Mateo so you _have_ to be sure. I don't want you to have any regrets, no matter who you choose."

For the second time in less than a minute she leaves me speechless. "Really?"

"Really. If you want to be with Michael then I'm for that. And if you decide that you want to be with Rafael, then I'm for that too. What matters most is your happiness."

"So you don't have a preference either way?"

"I love Michael and I love Rafael. They're both good men and they're both good for you. Either of them could make you happy. But, if I'm being honest, Rafael would probably be the better choice for you but that's mostly for Mateo's sake."

I slump forward in disappointment with her answer. "So you want me to be with Rafael?"

"It would definitely be less complicated."

Her reply provokes a humorless grunt from me. "I remember when being with Rafael was the complicated choice. Now _Michael_ is the one who could potentially mess up my well-ordered life! I'd laugh at the irony if I weren't so miserable!"

"It's not about what I want or what I think is best," Mom rushes to reassure me, "It's about what _you_ want, Jane. What do _you_ want?"

"I want Michael," I reply without hesitation, "That's never going to change."

I'm beyond relieved when she smiles in acceptance. "Then you should be with Michael," she determines softly, "Tell him how you feel and what you want and go from there."

When I go back into the house, I feel fortified to face Lorena Diaz again. I am also filled with determination to follow my mother's advice. I want to tell Michael exactly how I feel and what I want. But mostly, I want to know what _he_ feels and what _he_ wants. Because, quite truthfully, that is the only question right now.

A quick scan of the guests milling about inside Patricia Cordero's living room reveals that Michael and Lorena have not returned from their tour. I'm not completely surprised by that. But what gives me pause and actually starts a nervous churning in my gut is the realization that _Rafael_ is missing too. That cannot be a good thing.

My mind automatically veers to worst case scenario. The animosity between Michael and Rafael has been gradually building since Michael's return, exploding exponentially once Michael's memory began to return. I'm terrified that their ongoing feud might have reached critical level by now and might very well combust at Billy Cordero's funeral service.

Horrified by the thought, I go racing through the house, checking in every room I pass along the way and steeling myself for the moment when I will come upon Michael and Rafael duking it out. In the end, all my anxiety proves to be unnecessary. I don't find Michael and Rafael fighting at all. Instead, I happen upon Michael and Lorena having a private, intimate conversation in his bedroom.

His door is slightly ajar. Their voices float over to me in muffled tones. I can't really make out the words they are saying but I can discern the soft tenor of their voices and it gives me pause. I drift closer, their conversation becoming more distinct as I do. Rather than knocking and making my presence known, however, I hover just outside the door and listen instead.

"…your element now," I hear Lorena say, "I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm glad you've found your place in the world. That's what I've wanted for you all along. I'm just wondering where I fit in now."

"Stop acting like I'm going to forget about you, Lorie," Michael tells her, "Because I'm not. That will _never_ happen."

"I'm saying that I would understand if it did. You have a whole other life here and…"

" _You're_ part of my life too. Me knowing who I am finally doesn't change that. You're so important to me. Don't you know that?"

"You're important to me too. I don't want to lose you."

I don't hear what is said next but I hear the creaking of the bed springs and I imagine it's because someone is shifting their weight on the bed. When I lean forward to peek through the opening of the door, I can see Michael gently brushing the tears from Lorena's cheeks. His expression is tender with concern. It honestly feels like a gut punch and that's well before he says his next words. When that happens, I feel destroyed.

"I meant what I said to you in Houston," he tells her ardently, "You will _always_ be a priority to me, Lorie. I love you."

It feels like I've had the wind knocked out of me. I fall back from the door and press myself back into the wall because my knees feel like they're going to go out from under me. I have to get my bearings again but the words pound in my ears even as I try to drown them out.

He loves her. _He loves her._ He actually said the words and it feels like my entire world is shattering around me. I can't breathe. I can't think. My heart hurts so much that I can't even focus past the pain. I want to run. I want to get out of there and block that whole scene from my mind, that whole vision of the man I love declaring his love to someone else.

But as soon I whip around to make my escape, I immediately collide face to chest with Rafael and it is truly the last thing I need right now. I'm already in tears and I'm about two seconds from losing it completely right then and there. So, I try to sidestep him, hoping that he will leave me in peace, but the instant he realizes I'm upset he won't let me pass.

He scoops me against him as the sobs come bursting out of me and I go willingly into his arms because I don't have the strength to fight. "Oh my God, Jane! What happened? What's wrong? Please, tell me what happened." He keeps urging me and comforting me and stroking my hair tenderly and all I can do is cry and cry. The words won't come. They are too big to even utter.

I can't imagine that this moment can possibly get any worse but then it does. Michael and Lorena step out of his bedroom at that exact second to find me cradled in Rafael's arms and bawling like a baby. Even before I lift my head from Rafael's shirt, I know that this is going to be bad.

Michael immediately starts forward with a, "What the hell happened?" but Rafael staves him off with his hand and a warning glare. "I'd like to ask you the same thing," he snaps, "I walked up and found her crying just now. What did you do to her?"

" _I_ didn't do anything! Maybe you're the one making her cry!"

"No, I believe that's _your_ specialty, Michael."

Feeling extremely self-conscious and not wanting this to devolve any more than it already has, I shrug out of Rafael's arms because I can feel Michael's expectant stare boring into me. I'm still trying to get my sniffling under control when he asks slowly, carefully, "Jane, what's going on? Did something happen with Rafael? Why are you crying?"

"I heard you," I reply but my voice so hoarse from that my words sound garbled and I have to repeat myself. "I heard what you said to her."

"Heard what I said to who?"

"You were in your room talking and I heard you, Michael. You told Lorena that you loved her."

That is clearly the last thing he expects me to say because he stands there dumbfounded. Unfortunately, while he and Lorena appear much too stunned by my accusation to speak right then, Rafael is not at a loss for words at all. His reaction is instant and volatile.

"You son of a bitch!" he seethes, suddenly lunging for Michael, "I knew you were playing her this entire time!"

After that, everything happens in a blur. I stifle a horrified scream when Rafael swings his fist at Michael's face. Thankfully, Michael ducks the punch. But my relief is short-lived. Michael charges at Rafael with an infuriated growl and shoves him into the adjacent wall. Wall pictures are knocked askew. Knickknacks are thrown to the floor and dashed to pieces. The hallway echoes with the muted thumps and grunts as they grapple with one another. Lorena and I scramble out of the way, yelling for them to stop the entire time. But they are impervious to our urgent pleas as they trade brutal punch for punch, blow for blow.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Lorena cries desperately, "Oh my God, it's not what you think!"

But they can't hear her and they can't hear me. Even bruised and bloody and exhausted, they keep going after each other again and again. In those horrifying moments they seem almost animalistic in their need to maim and inflict harm, Michael especially. His blue eyes are focused and fixed blindly as he counters each of Rafael's blows with one of his own. Even when it's clear that he's gained the upper hand and has Rafael pinned beneath him, he doesn't stop punching. I flinch each time he makes contact, cringing at the crunching sound of bone against bone.

By now everyone in the house is aware of the melee, including my mother and Michael's, and has come running to assist. Several guests try unsuccessfully to pull Michael off of Rafael but to no avail. He's so determined that he just swats us away like insects. Our efforts don't deter him at all. Someone is screaming hysterically, "You're killing him! Stop it! _You're killing him!_ " and I think that someone is me.

Michael can't hear me though. He doesn't register my presence at all. He is like someone else entirely, like a programmed machine that will not stop, a robot that absolutely will not be deterred until his task is complete. And at that moment, it seems like his "task" is to _kill_ Rafael.

He has his hands wrapped tightly around Rafael's throat and no one can pry him off because he's set, like hardening cement and he will not be moved. Rafael is losing consciousness, I am crying, Patricia and Lorena are _hysterical_ and Michael doesn't seem to care. He's not even Michael anymore. I feel like I'm falling into a pit, terrified beyond belief that all of this is going to end so badly when, from out of nowhere, my mother materializes like an enraged Valkyrie. Before anyone of us can prepare ourselves, she's swinging a large, unabridged dictionary straight at Michael's head.

Her weapon hits its mark with a reverberating thwack and everyone freezes. Michael goes completely still for a split second and then slumps forward. He topples over and falls off to Rafael's side in a boneless tangle of arms as legs, as insensible as the man lying next to him.


	20. Chapter 19

**A/N: So, heads up. This story is complete, all 36 chapters plus an epilogue of it. I am going to try to post every day from this point on if I get all the editing done. Otherwise, I'll just stick to every couple of days. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I appreciate all my readers and lurkers out there. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment.**

 **Chapter Nineteen (Michael POV)**

Strangely enough, I can remember in vivid detail the indignity of my first arrest.

I was barely fifteen years old and my parents had just begun their long and painful journey on the road to divorce. The loss of control I experienced in my life felt enormous back then and the only thing I could think to do was to act out in protest. So, I often found myself in trouble. Lots and lots of trouble. By the time I was seventeen I had earned myself quite a string of prior arrests and had spent most of my late teen years in juvenile detention. Once it had reached that point where I was being incarcerated, I was hardened to the reality of jail but the first time…that _very first time_ I was arrested, I had been scared shitless.

It had happened in the early evening while I was hanging out with friends at the local roller skating rink after yet another day of skipping school. The police came in and arrested me for truancy and vandalism right when I was in the middle of an arcade game. I remember that day as one of the few experiences in my life that truly terrified me. Never once in my history of destruction of property, petty crime and boosting cars had I ever been scared or even given a second thought to my actions until that night. Because that night was the first time I had ever faced real world consequences for my choices. But it wouldn't be the last.

When I'd had my final run in with the law just shy of my eighteenth birthday, and would have faced serious jail time if my brother hadn't taken the fall for me, I was determined that would the last time I would ever see the inside of any county lockup. I cleaned up my act. I finished school, I got a job and eventually I became a cop. I decided that I wanted to be a different person, a _better_ person and I became one. That boy I had once been soon became a very distant memory and I was glad to be rid of him.

But now, more than a decade later, I'm right back in that same place, being fingerprinted and processed for arrest. The only difference is, this time, I don't know what the hell I did to get arrested in the first place. The police have given me the condensed version. Rafael and I got into a fight and I tried to kill him. The explanation sounds ridiculous on paper but when I contemplate my bruised knuckles, split lip and struggle to see through my swollen eye while enduring a massive headache on top of all of that, it's not too difficult to believe that something serious went down.

Beyond that, I know very little. The last clear memory I have is sitting on my bed with Lorena, trying to convince her that we would always be friends. Everything else after that is a complete blank until I found myself sitting in the back of a police cruiser with my hands cuffed behind my back. There is a tender bump on the crown of my head that indicates a recent head injury but I don't think the memory loss is related to that. I do have a fuzzy recollection of arguing with Rafael outside of my bedroom but that seems almost like a dream to me.

It feels as if I've had some kind of blackout but I haven't had a single drop of alcohol. As far as I know anyway. In any case, I don't feel drunk and I don't remember drinking. I've tried to tell this to the police again and again but I can understand why the claim would seem farfetched to them. They've heard the same type of story a million times. Hell, _I've_ heard it so I know how lame I sound.

I haven't had an opportunity to talk to my family, Lorena or Jane since I've been arrested but I already know my situation is dire without their rundown. Rafael was transported to the hospital after our fight and he was in pretty bad condition. I feel guilty knowing that I hurt him so severely but, at the same time, I'm confused that I could even do such a thing. It doesn't feel real.

And far beyond my guilt, I face serious, life-altering consequences from this encounter. I know that if Rafael Solano dies I'm looking at much more than a charge of aggravated assault. I'm looking at manslaughter with a maximum sentence of 15 years in prison. It's a steep price to pay for a crime I don't even remember committing.

In the meantime, I'm trying not to go stir crazy. There's no need to insist on my right to a phone call because my parents and Lorena followed me to the police station. No doubt they are angling for my release and calling my representation at this very moment. For now the only thing I can do is wait for my bail to be set and posted.

But the longer I sit in this grimy cell, the more claustrophobic I become and, inevitably, the memories of another cell begins to invade my mind. The recollections come at me fast, dark and foreboding, in jagged flashes so intense I actually panic and break into a sweat. I can well remember the fear and the despair and the hopelessness almost like it's happening in real time. When I'm finally released on bail nearly four hours later, I'm a trembling, perspiring mess. I feel like I'm falling apart.

My parents and Lorena are waiting for me when I emerge from holding. The moment my mother sees me, her features crumple in an anguished wince. She rushes over to gingerly examines the cuts and bruises that mar my face. I don't know how much damage has been done but I do know how it _feels_ and if the pain I feel is any indication then I'm pretty sure I look like shit.

"Oh my God, look at your poor face," Mom cries mournfully, "You're a mess. Can you even _see_ right now? We need to get you to a hospital. I can't believe they didn't provide you with any medical attention!"

"They offered but I refused." I gently brush her hands aside. "I'm fine. How is Rafael?" Everyone drops their eyes and goes silent at the question and I know that must mean the news isn't good. "At least tell me he's still alive!"

"He's alive," Dad says, "But you really did a number on him, son."

"I don't even remember that," I mumble, "I don't know what the hell happened."

It's at that point that Lorena finally speaks and begins to fill in the blanks. She looks shaken and devastated. She's wringing her hands in a rather uncharacteristic way and I don't know if that's because she's uncomfortable around me now or if she's nervous about recapping me. She has a difficult time meeting my eyes so I suspect it's a mixture of both. I immediately feel terrible for distressing her, especially after she came all this way just to support me. I'm sure this isn't what she had in mind when she decided to visit.

"Just tell me," I urge her softly when she hesitates to begin.

"Jane overheard us talking earlier and she got the wrong idea about it," she recounts, "She was upset and Rafael blamed you. He attacked you and you defended yourself."

"So that's it? It was self-defense?" I ask, frowning in confusion, "Then why did I get arrested?"

Mom places her hand on my forearm, as if she's trying to prepare me for what she's about to say next. "Sweetheart, it was _more_ than self-defense," she says softly, "You went after him like you wanted to kill him. You _would_ have killed him if Xiomara Villanueva hadn't knocked you unconscious."

I blink at her in disbelief. "What? Jane's mom knocked me out?" So that's where the bump came from. I _really_ am trying to process and accept everything they're telling me but each new revelation sounds even more ridiculous than the one prior to it. I can hardly believe they're talking about me.

"It was so awful," Mom weeps brokenly, "For a minute, I thought she had killed you."

The mention of Xo is actually what prompts me to look around for Jane. That is the first time I really process the fact that she is not present and her absence is conspicuous. I'm not entirely surprised to see she's not there with them but, at the same time, I feel disappointed and hurt. I'm also extremely apprehensive about what she must be thinking right now.

"Where is she?" I ask and I don't even need to refer to her by name because everyone knows what I'm asking, "Is she okay?" Another thought occurs to me, one almost too agonizing to even ask out loud but I have to do it. "I…I didn't hurt her too, did I?"

"No!" my mother vehemently reassures me, "Jane is fine."

"Is she with Rafael right now?"

Dad answers with a nod. "Yeah. She rode in the ambulance with him once he was transported. She was gone by the time you were arrested."

"Oh," I say in response because I don't know what else I can say. "Did she say anything before that?"

"No," Dad replies, "She was mostly worried about Rafael."

"Of course," I say woodenly, "That makes sense." And, truly, I know that it does but it still feels like rejection on some level, even if I won't admit that out loud.

"And you really don't remember any of it?" Dad presses worriedly, "Not a single moment? You were half crazy, Mikey. I think if Jane's mother hadn't knocked you out, I would have."

"It was _that_ bad?"

"It was _terrifying_ ," Mom says, shuddering with the recollection, "You were like someone possessed. The look on your face…"

"I don't remember _any_ of that. It's all one, big blank."

"That's not normal, Michael. Maybe we should call Dr. Beavers," Mom suggests fretfully, "I'm sure we could schedule an emergency session with him."

Two hours later, after a visit to an urgent care to provide Mom with peace of mind that I haven't suffered a facial fracture, I find myself seated in Dr. Beavers office describing to him the account that had been described to me while my family and Lorena wait for me out in the empty lobby. He listens in his usual, non-judgmental way, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that I had apparently almost killed a man today or that I look like I've been worked over by an expert pugilist. It makes me wonder about what sort of things this man has seen and heard in his lifetime that nothing at all fazes him. He's so serene that I even reveal to him the splintered details I remember about my captivity. When I'm done speaking, he studies me in pensive silence for several moments with his fingers steepled against his lips.

Finally, he says, "I think we should do another hypnosis session."

Immediately, I'm shaking my head in refusal. In the past, every hypnosis session we've had has ended in mental and emotional anguish for me. I always feel wrecked and out of control when they're over and I have nightmares for days following. It's not something I'm eager to do again and I tell him that.

"This is the biggest breakthrough we've had since you started with me, Michael," he says, "I think we need to do this but, of course, it's your choice."

"I really hate doing it," I groan in consternation, "I don't like the loss of control."

"It sounds to me like you lost control tonight."

I drop my head forward in shame. "I know that already."

"We can try to figure out why."

"I already know _why_ ," I stress, "It's because I hate his guts! I guess all of that finally came spilling out."

"Do you really believe that's _all_ it is?"

"Maybe."

Unconvinced, Dr. Beavers leans forward in his chair. "Allow me to rephrase the question. Do you want to take the chance that something like today happens again?" he asks in a mildly reprimanding tone, "This time it was Mr. Solano. What if the next time it's your parents or Jane or Mateo?"

"I don't want that," I reply without hesitation.

"Then I think we should try hypnosis again. From what you've explained, it sounds very much to me as if you could have been conditioned in some way after you were taken. We won't know that for sure unless we explore the places in your subconscious that you can't access."

"What are you saying? You think I've been brainwashed or something?"

"You have entire chunks of your memory that are missing," Dr. Beavers considers, "There must be a reason for that."

I clench my teeth, reluctantly considering his proposal. "And you think you can help me find the reason?"

"I do."

"Fine," I say with flat resolve, "Let's do it then."

The session starts out as it usually does with me stretched out on the red leather sofa in his office while I slowly count back from 100. At first, I'm too tense and I can't get out of my own head. So, Dr. Beavers suggest we try some relaxation exercises first and I agree. I listen to his soft, methodical tone as he tells me to relax, to breathe, to think back to the day when my life changed, the day that I supposedly died. _Remember the details of that day, Michael. What did you eat? What did you wear? Where did you go? What did you feel?_ The questions keep coming, echoing in my ears but they gradually begin to come from further and further away as I drift and drift and drift…

 _She is wearing a blue dress. Her dark hair is long and loose and framing her beautiful face. I love her the way she looks in blue and I don't think I've ever told her. But now isn't the time. She's nervous and I'm nervous and neither of us have time for distraction. There will be plenty of time tonight to relax with her, to tell her how beautiful she is and show her how much I love her. She gives me a vintage lunchbox that she found on Ebay and I don't think I can possibly adore her more than I do right then._

The image of Jane and I standing in the foyer of our home is so clear to me that I can remember all the details of that day. The faint hum of the air conditioning unit. The fragrant scent of her body lotion. The butterflies in the pit of my stomach. Everything rolls over me in striking color. I feel like I'm floating above the world, watching below as my life plays out before me in vivid snapshots of time. The scenes twist and turn, blending together to tell a story that has always been there, a story that I had forgotten until now.

 _I feel odd as I stand in line to collect my belongings, like my heart is skipping in my chest. I feel breathless. I stumble and then I'm falling and falling… My entire body jolts when I make impact with the ground. In my mind, I groan but no sound comes out. People are surrounding me. I can hear them shouting but I can't move. I can't speak._

 _"_ _Oh God, he's not breathing!"_

 _"_ _Call 911!"_

 _"_ _Does anybody know CPR?"_

 _"_ _Get an AED! Right now! Right now!"_

 _Their shouts gradually fall away and then everything in my world goes dark. When I wake up again I'm no longer on the cold floor but somewhere else entirely. It's dark but there are flashing lights, red and blue, red and blue, like the blinking strobe light of a police siren. And I still can't move because I'm strapped down and they won't let me. The two big, dangerous looking men who lean over me make it very clear that if I give them trouble they won't hesitate to give me the same._

 _"_ _The boss said not to kill you but that doesn't mean we can't rough you up a little."_

As I hover above the world, the scene quickly changes again and I'm somewhere new. The walls are white-washed, concrete and there is no natural light, no visible means of escape. And if I try, they've made the attempt harder because I'm chained to a bed. It feels like eons before my captors return again and, when they do come, they bring insults and injury. Food and water becomes a luxury. They don't have to treat me well. They just have to keep me alive.

 _"_ _What did you do to make the boss hate you so much? I figured with you being a cop that you had to have something on her. But turns out…this is personal."_

It takes me some time but I begin to recognize my circumstances. This isn't some twisted hospital dream that I'm having. I'm not hallucinating at all. This is real. This has happened. I've been kidnapped, stolen from my life and my family. I don't know who's behind it but I have my suspicions and I don't know what they want. But I _do_ know that they've arranged it so that everyone I love thinks that I am dead and that's more painful than the daily beatings.

 _"_ _Dude, don't look so glum! You should be thanking us! How often do you get to watch a live play by play of your own funeral?"_

 _"_ _Your wife is hot. Kind of a downer right now but still hot."_

I haven't seen the sun in God knows how long. They keep me locked in the cell day in and day out. By now, I know that we must be somewhere underground because there's no natural light to be found anywhere. There is no one to hear me scream. I quickly lose track of time. The minutes become hours, the hours become days and the days become weeks. But I can't gauge any of that because my days blend together, only made significant by whether I've eaten, whether they come to rough me up, whether I can remember that I still have a life out there and people who love me. Little by little, day by day, my spirit breaks down more and more.

 _"_ _What the hell does she want us to do with this guy? Two years and nothing is happening."_

 _"_ _She's biding her time. She says she wants him broken, so that's what we do in the meantime. We break him. Simple."_

 _"_ _Then what happens after that?"_

 _"_ _Then we turn him loose…and watch the fireworks."_

I get the feeling they're grooming me for something sinister, molding me into a weapon to hurt the ones I love the most. They does this through cajolery and threats and manipulation. They interrogate me for hours it seems but I'm not really sure what they want to know. I suspect they're trying to discern which of my weaknesses they can exploit and when they find one, they use it again and again and again.

 _"_ _Time's moving on and so is your wife…"_

 _"_ _Do you know that she's dating some other guy now?"_

 _"_ _Yeah dude, she moved on from you quick."_

 _"_ _But that's her m.o., isn't it?"_

I refuse to let them get into my head, to make me hate what I love so dearly. I can't allow them to twist what I know is good and pure and decent, the best part of me. So, I have to get free. I have to protect Mateo and Jane. I can't let my family becomes pawns in this twisted game. And that's all it is. That's the reason my life has been destroyed. All for a game.

 _"_ _I don't even know why you care. This is all about Rafael Solano. He took everything from you. This is your chance to get even. Don't you want to do it?"_

 _"_ _Nah, he's still a cop at heart. Aren't you? Still think the good guys win in the end?"_

 _"_ _You're only doing this to yourself."_

 _"_ _You could end this any time you want."_

They tell me again and again, just submit…submit and you can go home. Give in and you can be free. Don't you want to be free? Sometimes I think that would be the easiest thing to do because I'm starting to forget what the hell I'm fighting for in the first place. I'm starting to lose hope. All I really want is to go home. I miss my parents. I miss my life. I miss my freedom. Is there a price too big to pay for that?

 _"_ _Why do you care if Rafael Solano is dead? He screwed you over."_

 _"_ _Hell, it's a bonus because_ _ **you**_ _get to do it. I heard back in the day you weren't such a boy scout. I've seen your records, man. You were a hellion. So off that pretty boy. You know you want to."_

 _"_ _Don't you want to make him suffered like you suffered? I know I would."_

It is only when those insidious taunts actually start to make sense to me and I start to think that killing Rafael Solano will solve my problems that I'm renewed with determination to get the hell out of there. I won't allow them to turn me into something I'm not. I _have_ to get free and I try to get free and I stubbornly take the punishment that comes with each attempt. It doesn't matter because I won't let them break me. I will keep fighting them, again and again because that's who I am. I am Michael Cordero, Jr. and I am a fighter.

 _"_ _He really is a glutton for punishment, isn't he?"_

 _"_ _I don't know, man, he's in bad shape this time. We can't let him die. She won't be happy."_

 _"_ _This is so stupid! It's been four years already! I don't get why she doesn't just off him! It would be less work."_

 _"_ _It's not our decision. Keep him alive. That's the job."_

The first time someone comes to tend to my wounds I almost think I'm dreaming. She's diligent at her job but I don't think I need her help. By this point, I'm numb. I've become desensitized to their constant beatings, my nerve endings don't even register the pain. My mind is immune to their psychological torture because now that I know the game, I refuse to play. And I won't give up on getting back home. I can't. I have to keep going for Jane and for Mateo and my parents too. I have to protect my family. I have to protect myself. I have to stay _me_.

 _"_ _Are you trying to kill him? You can't keep beating him like this! He won't survive."_

 _"_ _Sin Rostro wants us to break him. This is how we do it."_

 _"_ _There's a fine line between 'breaking' someone and just getting your rocks off, asshole."_

 _"_ _Well, that's why you're here, nursey nurse. Don't worry about our job. You do yours and put Humpty Dumpty back together. Now patch him up or I can tell Sin Rostro you've had a change of heart about keeping up your end of the deal."_

 _"_ _Don't threaten me, Ralph. I can just as easily tell her that you've been using her secret weapon for a chew toy."_

 _"_ _Damn girl! Why you gotta be so rude?"_

 _"_ _Just go easy on him from now on, okay? God, you and Tim are like animals!"_

 _"_ _Can you really blame us? We've been housesitting this idiot for almost five years and it sucks! Personally, I need something to entertain me if I'm going to be watching this guy indefinitely. Besides, how often do you get to kick a cop's ass?"_

Sometimes, my muscles are so badly battered that I can't even move. I don't even have the fortitude to lift my head and she is there to take care of me every time. She soothes to my bruises. She washes and stiches my cuts and she provides medication for my pain. In the beginning, she's brusque and efficient, merely completing a job and she doesn't talk to me. She barely even looks at me. Over time, I think her inherent kindness is her undoing and she begins to lower her guard.

 _"_ _Will you please stop antagonizing them? One day they're going to kill you and I can't fix that."_

Strangely, she becomes the one, bright spot in my miserable existence. Most days I am chained like an animal but she reminds me that I'm still a human being. She is the only person in my life right now to treat me with any sort of compassion. The only one who talks to me. And she is the first person, in God knows how long, to ask me my name.

 _"_ _Michael, huh? Like the archangel? I remember him from the bible. He was a badass. I like that. It's a good name for you."_

The more she comes, the more compassionate she becomes, until her touch is gentle rather than clinical and her words are comforting rather than curt. I eventually come to view of her as a friend. I hope that she might be willing to help me escape. I don't want to put her in an awkward position but she may be my only chance at freedom.

 _"_ _No, I can't do that. Please, don't ask me again, Michael. You'll get us both killed."_

No amount of pleading will change her mind. She's afraid of what will happen to her if she helps me. But I'm afraid of what will happen to me if she doesn't. I look up at her, pleading with her to help me and it's in that moment that her face comes into full focus for me, that _everything_ comes into focus for me. I _know_ this woman. I recognize her kind, dimpled smile with dawned realization and finally I understand the truth about what's happened to me. The enormity of it all settles down on my life a crushing weight and it is devastating.

"Michael! _MICHAEL!_ Come back! I need you to come back now!"

I bolt upright with a sharp start, rudely yanked back into the present by that sharp command. My heart feels like it's pumping in my throat. I'm panting, gulping down air and yet it feels like I'm starving for oxygen. For a moment, I feel disoriented and I'm not even sure where I am until I look over at Dr. Beavers' anxious face. I become increasingly aware of my surroundings as well as my worried family and Lorena standing just beyond Dr. Beavers' shoulder. I can't even remember when they came into the room. When I swing around on the sofa to face them all, my head is still spinning.

"You were becoming very agitated," Dr. Beavers explains when I look to him for answers, "I had to bring you out of it."

"Are you okay?" Mom asks fretfully, "You look upset."

"We heard you yelling and we came running in here," Dad tells, "What happened? Did you remember something?"

But I barely hear his words because I've now become completely focused on Lorena. There is a quiet rage that is gathering in my belly right now, clarifying my thoughts and invigorating me in a way I haven't felt in five years. Our eyes meet in a weighty stare and I can tell that the second she meets my eyes, she knows what's about to come. The betrayal I feel must be easy to read in my expression. Tears fill her eyes almost immediately but I indifferent when I see them. I'm too infuriated and too hurt and all I want are answers.

"You were there," I whisper with surprising calm, "You knew the whole time."

My parents and Dr. Beavers bounce confused glances between me and Lorena but, for the moment, I can't provide them with an explanation for what's happening. I'm still processing it all myself. There is too much unfinished business between me and Lorena and I have too many questions. Questions that only Lorena can answer.

"How much do you remember?" she asks in a shaky tone.

"All of it," I spit, "Enough to know you've been working for Sin Rostro this entire time."

"Not by choice, Michael! No one works for Sin Rostro by choice!"

"What did you say?" my mother exclaims in infuriated disbelief, "You work for who?"

But I acknowledge my mother's indignation only peripherally because I'm just beginning to grasp the full enormity of Lorena's betrayal. "The whole time you knew who I was and where I belonged! You were _playing_ me and like an idiot I believed you!" It's not the first time I've been suckered by one of Sin Rostro's flunkies and I'm beginning to see a disturbing pattern there. The realization makes me doubt myself, leaves me sick inside.

"No. No," she protests with a wild shake of her head, "It is not what you're thinking. I _saved_ you, Michael! They would have killed you otherwise. If you can remember everything, then you know what it was like for you!"

I'm up on my feet then, stalking her across the expanse of Dr. Beavers' office as she backs up several nervous steps. "Where are they?" I demand, "Where are the men she hired? You're going to tell me where to find them and they're going to confess to what they did to me…and to my brother!"

"You can't. Tim and Ralph can't confess to anything. They're dead."

For some reason that news breaks me down like nothing else has and I actually start to sob. I hate that. I want to keep it together but it seriously feels like my world is falling apart all around me. I glare at her in pure hatred. "You lying bitch! I can't believe I _trusted_ you!"

"I saved you, Michael. I _protected_ you. I've done everything to protect you."

" _Stop lying to me!_ "

"I'm not lying," she cries, "I _do_ love you! I didn't want you to find out this way!"

"You didn't want me to find out at all."

"She'll kill me! Do you not get that? She'll kill everyone I love! I _had_ to do it!"

I cover my ears to block out her words, pacing mindlessly as I do. "Shut up! Shut up! I don't want to hear anymore! Just stop talking!"

"Sin Rostro didn't want you dead," she rushes to explain, "She had this whole elaborate plan…I didn't even understand it but…when she found out what they did… You were in such bad shape! I thought you were going to die! God, you didn't even remember what happened when you finally opened your eyes! She entrusted you to me, okay! I didn't ask! And I didn't _want_ to care about you! I tried not to care but I did. I do."

That last part has me whipping to face her again with an embittered snort. "So, are you even a nurse? Did you really find me in a ditch? What's the real reason that you were so gung-ho to have me come back here? Was that on her order? Was anything that you said to me true at all?"

"Yes! I wasn't pretending to be your friend, Michael!" When I respond to that with another scornful scoff she says, "I am a nurse. My father worked for Sin Rostro and…and he had a lot of debts with her. She's not a patient woman. I wanted to keep my family safe."

"Your family. You mean Marcel? Is he really your brother or was that a lie too?"

"He's my brother. He's the only family I have left. I didn't lie to you about that."

"Why?" I sob brokenly, "Why did you do this to me?"

"I didn't want Marcel to fall into our father's old life. I was trying to protect him. If someone had to work for her then it was going to be me."

"Aren't you the noble one?"

"All she told me that she wanted was for me to keep you healthy. I was supposed to keep you inoculated and treat you if you got a cold or the flu. That was my job. I wasn't supposed to be setting broken bones. I had no idea the kind of shape you were in."

"Right. I'm so sure that Sin Rostro was concerned with my well-being!"

"She was! Because if you were dead, you couldn't be a part of her master plan!"

"And what plan was that?" I ask but before she can answer I'm already waving my hand in refusal to listen, "No, forget I asked. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie anyway! It's not like I'd believe you."

"I'm still the same person I was before, Michael. All I've tried to do this whole time was help you."

"You're a liar. Your brother's a liar. You both manipulated me. You helped to keep me from my family."

"No, that wasn't me. I had _nothing_ to do with your kidnapping! They were keeping you long before I came into the picture."

"But you knew the truth!" I explode, "You've known for _six months_ who I was, Lorena, and where I came from and you watched me stumble around in the dark that entire time! God! I can't even look at you!"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What can I do to make this right? Tell me. Please, Michael."

"You can't. You can't do anything." At that point, I can't listen to her anymore. I'm devoid of anger and hurt now. I just feel numb. Lorena might very well feel guilty for her actions but it's also clear that she feels justified and that's not something I can handle right now. "I'm calling the police," I tell her flatly, "You're going to jail."

"No!" she cries hysterically, "No, please! You can't do that, Michael! She'll kill me! She'll kill Marcel!"

"Do you expect me to care? Because I don't," I reply and, right at that moment, I absolutely mean it. I don't care about anything at all.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty (Jane POV)**

I have eleven missed calls from Michael.

With this last one, I glance over reflexively at Rafael where he is dozing in his hospital bed to make sure the sound didn't wake him. I've been keeping vigil at his bedside for the last few hours and every single time my phone jingles I have to wrestle with myself not to answer it. I want to. I _really_ want to because I am just as worried about Michael as I am about Rafael. But then I look at Rafael's battered and bruised face and I'm reminded of all the reasons why I shouldn't. Michael _did_ try to kill him tonight and I can't simply shrug that off. Consequently, as I've done with the last eleven, I send this latest call straight to voicemail and discretely tuck my phone back into my purse.

As a result of all the painkillers he'd been given earlier, Rafael has been mostly sleeping since being admitted to his room. He was barely conscious when he arrived so we haven't really had an opportunity to talk about what happened. Mom and I haven't talked about it either. Half an hour ago, she'd excused herself to make a phone call to Dad but I think that was likely a manufactured pretext because she recognized my need to be alone with Rafael and process my thoughts. In fact, I haven't said much at all since he'd been transported to the hospital and Mom hasn't said much either but I'm pretty sure she's reeling just like I am. Michael's actions had shocked the hell out of her too.

But I can't think about that right now. I'll go crazy if I do. So I turn my thoughts towards matters I can compartmentalize, that are somewhat within my limited control.

Thankfully, the injuries Rafael sustained aren't necessarily life threating. He has a fractured eye socket, a broken nose and a bruised trachea. Undoubtedly, he's going to look like hell for a few weeks but the damage isn't permanent. Due to that last injury, however, the doctors have decided to keep him in the hospital overnight for observation. He has some swelling in his throat as a result of his near strangulation and the medical staff want to be sure the inflammation doesn't eventually impede his airway.

Whenever I look at the dark, purple bruise that rings his neck, I can still see Michael straddled over him, his hands closed tightly around Rafael's throat. The lack of expression on Michael's face is seared into my brain. That glassy, fixed blue stare, methodical and unseeing, as he tries to choke the life out of Rafael. I've been reliving that horror again and again for the past three hours. Every time I close my eyes, it's right there in bold, living color. I doubt that I will ever forget it and, because I won't, I can't envision how Michael and I can ever go forward. I don't think I can ever look at him the same way.

Prior to that moment, I would have never conceived that Michael was capable of such brutality. I knew that he had a temper and he could be extremely defensive at times. But who didn't have those kinds of character flaws? He wasn't perfect and I didn't expect him to be.

I also knew that there is a great deal of animosity that simmered between him and Rafael but I never recognized the extreme depth of it…not until today. And to witness the unbridled display of that animosity had truly terrified me. I can't have someone capable of that type of violence around my son. I can't have someone like that around myself.

It all feels like deja vu. I can remember how I felt when Michael went after Rafael all those years ago because he rightly suspected that Rafael had cost him his job. That day he had been so enraged that he'd actually punched Rafael when Mateo was right there and, as a result of that lapse in judgment, my son had been injured. What if Mateo had been there today? This afternoon was so reminiscent of that day that the similarities literally gives me chills when I think about it. Only, this time, Michael hadn't seemed to recognize the enormity of his actions afterwards. This time, he didn't even seem to care.

And that's the hardest part for me to reconcile. The man I saw today, the man that had kept going after Rafael again and again like a mindless machine…that man hadn't seemed like Michael at all. That man had been unrecognizable to me. Even after he had regained consciousness while we waited for the ambulance and police to arrive, he hadn't seemed like himself.

He'd been dazed, confused and he'd recoiled like a wounded animal from anyone who dared to come near him. He hadn't even known where he was. The only person who had been able to even get close to him was Lorena. At the time, I couldn't be sure if his disorientation was a result of the head injury he'd sustained or something else but I couldn't ponder the possibilities for too long because my thoughts were preoccupied with Rafael.

Now, I find myself wondering. Had Michael even been _aware_ of his actions during his fight with Rafael? Was he in control when it happened? I think about how emotionless and apathetic he seemed during fight and after it was over and I can't shake the feeling that something was off with him. Something wasn't right. My heart is inclined to believe that there's more to his outburst today than simple rage.

Unfortunately, that's the problem. I don't know if I believe there is something deeper going on with Michael because it's actually possible or because I simply _want_ it to be true. I want there to be some explanation other than hatred and bad judgment for why Michael attacked Rafael like that, why he would have gone so far as to kill him if my mother hadn't intervened. Maybe Rafael's earlier concerns about Michael had been valid after all. Maybe Sin Rostro _had_ done something horrible to Michael in all those years she had him held prisoner, maybe he _had_ been brainwashed. Maybe he wasn't responsible for his actions today at all.

I've got myself half convinced that all of those theories are true when I realize what I'm doing and I stop myself cold. I can't do this. I can't make excuses for Michael's actions. Am I really so desperate to excuse him that I'm willing to believe he was _brainwashed_ without any evidence whatsoever? The likelier explanation is the hardest one to come to terms with and that is simply that Michael went after Rafael tonight because he hated him and that hatred clouded his judgment just like the last time.

I can't help but wonder if Rafael has been right about me this entire time. Perhaps I do have a blind spot, a weakness when it comes to Michael. I can't see him as he actually is. Maybe this is who he's been the whole time and I'm only _now_ starting to see it. Could I have really been that blind, _that_ foolish? And after everything that's happened today I realize that I can't afford to keep deluding myself. Michael is obviously not the man I thought he was and I have to find a way to accept that truth…and live with it.

Hoping to distract myself from that unhappy awareness, I decide to put in a call to Abuela and check in on Mateo when, just as a I reach for my purse, Rafael's uninjured eye begins to flutter. I quickly put aside my things and scramble to his bedside. He emits a low, groggy, disoriented groan and I hold my breath as he opens his eye. Strangely, I feel more tension now that he's waking up than I did when he was unconscious and his prognosis was uncertain.

"Hey," I greet softly as he starts to focus on my face, "How are you feeling?"

He has to try several times before he speaks and, when he does, his words are raspy and weak as a result of the injury to his throat. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck." Under the circumstances, that scenario might be more preferable. But I don't dare voice that comment aloud.

"My throat is on fire." I deliberately refrain from reminding him that his pain is a direct result of Michael's attempt to strangle him. "It hurts to talk."

"Would you like some water?" When he nods I quickly retrieve the Styrofoam cup his nurse had brought in for him earlier. After he's taken a few careful sips, I ask, "Is that better?"

"A little." With a small frown, Rafael reaches up his hand to gingerly investigate the puffiness in his eye. "Does it look as bad as it feels?"

"I've seen you look better," I evade with a feeble smile, "Do you remember what happened?"

Rafael nods. "I got in a fight with Michael," he determines in a grim tone, "I think he tried to kill me."

There is no way that I can sugarcoat his assumption because it's absolutely true so I try to soften the harshness of that reality instead. "It definitely got out of hand. You two never should have been fighting in the first place."

He lifts an uncoordinated hand wrapped in I.V. tubing to gently brush my cheek. "He hurt you, Jane."

"Yeah, he did," I acknowledge gruffly, "But that was between me and him. You shouldn't have gotten involved, Raf."

Rafael closes his eye and grunts softly, letting his hand fall. "It's not just between you and him. If he's in your life then that means he's in Mateo's life too. What affects you affects Mateo and that affects me."

He's said something similar to me in the past. I didn't completely agree with it then and I don't completely agree with it now. I don't especially like the idea that my personal choices must somehow be dictated by whether or not Rafael feels comfortable with them. However, I don't say anything to him about it, not necessarily because I think he might be right but because he's hurt and in no shape to argue right now. "You should sleep," I encourage him, "We can talk more after you've had some rest."

But I know he's not going to heed the advice even before he says, "Tell me how bad it is. If I'm in the hospital then it can't be great."

"It's not too terrible. They're keeping you overnight as a precaution. Your face received some serious damage, a broken nose and eye socket, but all of that will heal and you'll be as pretty as ever in no time."

"Oh, so you still think I'm pretty, do you? Good to know." His cocky grin quickly becomes a grimace of pain. "Ugh, that hurts. Probably shouldn't do too much smiling right now."

I drop a careful but affectionate kiss to his forehead. "Probably not."

"That's going to be hard with you around." When my smile wavers a bit with that statement, Rafael's face darkens with disappointment and the lighthearted atmosphere between us vaporizes.

He regards me with a stony expression. "Tell me that Michael is in jail right now."

While I understand his fury and I know that he's justified, the thought of Michael being arrested or spending the night in jail makes me cringe inside. He spent the last five years of his life in a prison and I'm not eager to see him go back to one, even if he does deserve it. Although it sounds cliched and ridiculous given the circumstances, I feel like Michael has been through enough already.

"I'm not sure where he is," I reply rather reluctantly, "The police showed up at the house shortly after the paramedics did but I don't know if they arrested him or not because I left with you."

Once again, Rafael's expression veers from gathering rage to surprised gratitude. "You did? You rode with me to the hospital?"

"Yes. I was worried about you."

He appears rather satisfied and pensive following my answer. I fear that he might be reading more into that fact than necessary but when I start to clarify matters, he says, "Well, if they didn't arrest him yet, they will…because I'm pressing charges."

"Rafael, do you really think that's necessary?" I lament without thinking, " _You_ threw the first punch." I know it's the wrong thing to say even before he glares at me.

"So what? I was defending you! Are you saying I deserved what happened?"

"No. I'm saying that maybe if you hadn't gone after him things wouldn't have escalated."

"Are you defending him right now?" he rasps in disbelief, "After he tried to _kill_ me?"

"Of course not! But this situation is already complicated enough. Do you really want to make it worse by having him arrested?"

"Yes. I do," he insists obstinately, "I don't give a damn what it complicates! He assaulted me. That's a crime and he should answer for it."

Yet again, the chilling image of Michael with his hands wrapped tightly around Rafael's throat flashes through my brain. I fall back a few steps with a jerked nod of acceptance. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. If you want to press charges then you should do that."

"I know you want to believe he's changed, Jane," Rafael whispers, "But clearly he hasn't. He's dangerous. For you and for Mateo. I don't want him around my son, Jane."

"I get it! Okay?" I snap a little angrier than I intend.

"Do you?" he challenges. When I don't respond, he presses further. "I'm not blind. I know that something must have changed between you two."

I glance up at him, startled, fearful in that moment that the truth must be written all over my face. I haven't told anyone besides my mother that Michael and I had sex the night I drove to Fort Myers. In fact, until this second, I had thought I was doing a rather fine job of keeping my feelings for Michael concealed. Obviously not.

"I watched you together at the funeral," Rafael reveals, "I saw how you looked at him…how he looked at you. It was different. Something was different."

"Rafael, I…"

"I don't want to know the details," he interrupts sharply before I can begin to explain, "I don't want to know what happened. I want to know what you're going to do _now_."

"I don't understand what you're asking me."

"I'm assuming that you and Michael were going to try and be together but I hope you know now that would have been a mistake."

"I don't want to talk about this with you. You're hurt and I'm tired and this isn't the time to get into it."

Rafael makes a sweeping gesture around his hospital room and all the equipment housed inside of it. "As you can see, I have no place to be right now," he says wryly, "so, I think, this is the perfect time to talk about it."

I regard him with a frustrated glare. "What do you want me to say, Raf?"

"The truth," he states quietly, "You're still in love with Michael, aren't you? Even now, after everything he's done? Admit it!"

The somber candor of the question has me averting my eyes but I don't lie to him. "Yes." He's silent for a long time after I answer and I know it's because he's trying to process the anguish it causes.

Finally, he asks, "How long have you known that you still wanted to be with him?"

"I don't know," I mumble, "But I think I stopped lying to myself after you broke off the engagement."

"So, I was right. You weren't sorry that I ended it at all."

"It's not like that," I rush to reassure him, "I knew, in the long run, it was probably for the best because I was so confused."

"Then why did you say 'yes' in the first place?" This isn't the first time he's asked me this question but it's the first time I've given him a straight answer when he does.

"Because I still loved you!" I cry tearfully, "My feelings for you didn't disappear overnight when Michael came back. At first, I felt torn and I didn't know what I wanted beyond helping Michael regain his memory. But the more time I spent with him, the stronger my feelings for him became. And, as that happened, my feelings for you became less pronounced. It wasn't anything you did, Rafael. It's been a process and it just happened. It was me. It's all me."

"And the bottom line is, you want him…just like always. You want him more than me."

I drop my head forward with a mournful whimper. "Raf, please…I don't want to hurt you, especially now when you…"

"…when I'm in the hospital because he tried to kill me," he finishes brutally, "That's the man you love, Jane! That's the man you want above our family! That's the man you keep leaving me for…an emotionally unstable, abusive killer!"

"Stop it! This isn't a contest, Raf!"

"No, it's _my_ life! It's our life together! We were a family, Jane! We were so happy! _Our son_ was so happy! Have you taken one second to think about what you're doing to us…to him?"

"I have! That's _all_ I've been thinking about!"

Just then, my cellphone begins to chime in my purse, filling the room with its catchy jingle. Secretly glad for the interruption, I make a dive for my purse, half expecting and _hoping_ it to be Abuela with an update on Mateo but when I glance at the caller i.d. screen I realize it's _not_ Abuela calling. A quiver of apprehension uncurls in my belly. My hands start to sweat.

Rafael reads my tormented expression easily. "It's Michael, isn't it?"

I swallow roughly before I answer. "Yes. I should probably answer or he's going to keep calling."

"Well, go ahead then!" he bites out coldly, "Talk to him! You know you want to!"

Although it's scornful, resentful permission, it's still permission and I guess that's what I've been waiting for this entire time. I turn my back and seek the furthest corner of the room before I answer the call with trembling fingers. "Michael?"

"Jane!" he cries gladly when he hears my voice, "Thank God! I didn't think you were going to answer!"

He sounds harried, confused. Shaken. My heart contracts immediately to hear the trembling in his voice but I steel myself against feeling compassion for him. "This isn't a good time for me, Michael."

"I know you're upset. And I get that," he rushes out, "But you have to let me to explain. There's so much going on that… I need to see you, Jane. Where are you? Are you still at the hospital? Can I meet you there?"

"No, you can't meet me here!" I hiss, "Don't you understand what you did? I'm here with Rafael, Michael! You put him in the hospital!"

"I know! I didn't mean for that to happen! Is...is he okay?"

"He'll recover but that doesn't change what you did!" I hiss.

"I'm sorry for that. I'm so sorry! But that wasn't me. That's not who I am. I really need to talk to you right now! So much has happened and I need to explain! Please, can I see you?"

"Michael, I don't have anything more to say you," I tell him, my words hoarse with unshed tears, "I think you and I should keep our distance from each other from now on. You were right. We should go our separate ways. I don't want to see you. Please don't call me again."

I end the call just as he starts his tearful protest. I'm not surprised when he immediately calls back but this time I block him. Fueled by sorrow and pain, I go a step further and delete every single voice message that he's left for me in the interim and I don't listen to a single one before I do. When that's over and I have not only deleted his call history and voicemails, I also delete his contact information my phone list. Afterwards, I shove my cell back into my purse and try very hard not to cry.

"Now what?" Rafael asks softly as I stand there trying not to fall apart.

"Now I have to find a way to live with it."

"And you're _sorry_ about that? Even after everything that's happened?"

"I can't help how I feel, Raf!"

He rakes me with a look of sheer disgust and I recoil from its ferocity. I can't remember Rafael _ever_ looking at me that way, almost like he hates me, and it's soul-crushing to see because, in spite of everything, he's still my best friend. It's ironic to say, given the circumstances, but I need his support to get through this. It's not fair and I hate myself for feeling this way but…I need him to keep me from breaking.

"I don't get it," he mutters bitterly, "How can you still love him after everything he did to you? He's seeing another woman and he lied to you about it. He hasn't been faithful to you, Jane. And, if that's not enough, he tried to kill me tonight!"

"I know that. You don't think I'm sick about it? You don't think I feel guilty?"

I'm not sure if it's the sight of my tears or the fact he can plainly see how anguished and ashamed I am but Rafael softens. Thankfully, he softens because, after everything that's happened, I can't lose him too. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I shouldn't have gone after you like that. I know you're confused and hurt."

I collapse into the chair I'd vacated earlier and cover my face with my hands. "I don't even know who that was tonight," I weep sorrowfully, "He was like a completely different person. It shocked me."

"Jane, he's been gone for five years," Rafael whispers, "He's not the same man you used to know."

"I don't know what to do now," I weep brokenly, "It feels like he just died all over again! But somehow, this feels worse. It hurts so much!"

"You got through it once. You can do it again."

"How?"

"Focus on your writing. Focus on our son. Let me help you through this."

I lift my head to stare at him in devastated disbelief. "Why would you even want to help me?"

"Because you're my best friend and I love you and I'm never going to stop wanting us to be together."

The words are so reminiscent of something that Michael said to me years ago that I have to shake my head at the incredible irony. I'm living out the same events all over again but only now Michael and Rafael's roles have been reversed. And it's because I've lived this same scenario once before that I'm determined not to make the same mistakes all over again. Rather than giving into my desire not to hurt Rafael and cushion him from the truth, I decide to be frankly honest instead.

"Raf, I know how you feel about me but I don't feel the same. Not anymore," I tell him as gently as I can, "I love Michael. It's not ideal and I wish I didn't. It doesn't feel great right now but that's the truth. I love him and I think that's always going to be true."

"You also loved me," Rafael reminds me stubbornly, "You said so yourself just a little while ago. What we had between us was real. If you fell in love with me once before when you still had feelings for Michael, I know it can happen again, Jane."

"I don't want it to happen again!" I flare suddenly, "When I broke my engagement to Michael back then it was a mistake and I regretted it, especially when I thought he was dead because all I could think about was all that time I wasted…time we could have had together…"

He flinches in response but stubbornly pushes ahead regardless. "And this last time we've been together? Do you regret that too?"

My anger subsides just as quickly as it flared and I'm left feeling tired and defeated. "No. This last time with you was beautiful and perfect and exactly what I needed. You made me believe I could be a whole person again. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I'm going to always cherish what we had together, Raf."

" _Have_ ," he corrects me, "We still have it. I believe that. Right now you're caught up in the past and you're confusing what you feel for Michael as real love because of it. Eventually, you'll get that. So, I'll wait because I know what's at stake. For our family, for our future, I will wait for you, Jane."

He's so earnest, so heartfelt, so broken in his hospital bed that I can't tell him, at this particular moment, that is the very last thing I want to hear.


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One (Michael POV)**

It's been three weeks, four days and six hours since Jane asked me for space. The thought comes unbidden into my mind as I stand in line for my morning coffee. It irritates me because I was sure that I'd begun to move past the point of caring. But I really shouldn't be surprised that I'm thinking about her. I usually do whenever I'm feeling vulnerable.

In the beginning the pain of her rejection had been like a constant churning in my stomach. I had a difficult time accepting the fact that it was really over between us. Not when everything was different because I finally knew the whole truth about what happened to me. Not when I'd just discovered the magnitude of Lorena's betrayal. Not when I now understand how significant it is that Jane and I had managed to fall in love with each other all over again despite the crazy odds. If I hadn't believed we were meant for each other before that, I certainly believed it now.

So, at first, I'd remained stubbornly determined to get her to talk to me. I texted and I called until she finally blocked my number. But I didn't let that deter me because I really believed that she was hurting like I was. I went to her house, only to be gently but firmly turned away by her mother and grandmother more than once. I was even desperate enough to show up at the Marbella one time to intercept her at work, which in hindsight hadn't been one of my brightest ideas because it ended with me being escorted from the grounds by security. Not one of my finer moments.

Still, I couldn't give up the hope that she would eventually give me a chance. Then I could fully explain to her how I had been conditioned to hate Rafael, how that had been Sin Rostro's plan all along…to turn me into a weapon and then send me back to her and Mateo like a ticking timebomb. That was the reason why, as more and more of my memory had returned, my animosity towards Rafael would grow and grow. _That_ was the reason I had gone after him with such ferocity. If I could make her understand that then I knew she would forgive me.

But as the days dragged on, it became very clear that Jane wasn't interested in my explanations or forgiveness. Only one day after I tried to see her at the Marbella, Rafael put a restraining order in place that made it criminal for me to be within 20 feet of him or his family and Jane hadn't tried to circumvent that move. In fact, she had been listed as one of the complainants. Now I can't go near her or Mateo without it being a criminal offense. That was the moment it became abundantly evident to me that she was really and truly done and that I had to move on.

Putting that realization into action, however, was really hard. At first, I was too weighted down by depression and anxiety to even try. I couldn't eat, didn't sleep and barely wanted to leave my mother's house. I had never felt more alone in my entire life, not even after the first time Jane broke our engagement to go chasing after Rafael Solano. And the worst part was, I was locked into that pain. No matter where I turned or what I did, it was always there, chipping away at what was left of my heart. I was in physical pain at times. My bones literally ached. I could barely find the energy to climb out of bed.

I'd endured one of the darkest periods in my whole life and, when everything was beginning to unravel, all I'd wanted was Jane. I had needed her like I had never needed anyone or anything in my life. I needed her support and her comfort and her calming presence. There were days when I thought I wouldn't be able to make it past my anguish, when my future seemed bleak and worthless but now, nearly a month later, I've tucked away the love I feel for her in the deepest recesses of my shattered heart and I can breathe again. I'm starting to think I might be okay.

It was a tough road, riddled with many setbacks. I had to make a conscious effort to put her out of my mind . I kept myself busy in various activities so I didn't have time to think. Lately, I've been working closely with the police to convict Rose Solano of her crimes against me and my family. I've also been faithfully attending my therapy sessions with Dr. Beavers and spending more quality time with my parents. When I'm not doing that, I'm preparing for my own impending court case.

In essence, I keep myself occupied, filling up my days with things to do. I go and go and go until I'm too exhausted to go any further and then I fall asleep to wake up the next day and do it all over again. It's an exhausting schedule but that's what I want. I don't ever let myself stop because when I stop I think about Jane and I think about Lorena and I need to avoid that at all costs. It's been a little easier to put Jane out of my head. I had to do that for mental survival. Lorena, on the other hand, has been a bit trickier to push aside.

I haven't gone to see her since she was arrested and placed into protective custody because as soon as her arrest became known to Sin Rostro she had a target on her back. But I can't squelch the small part of me that's worried about her. As a result, I've thought about seeing her numerous times.

Like my feelings for Jane, my feelings for Lorena are murky and bundled up in confusion and anger. I still care about her, love her even but I also hate her. She took advantage of me and manipulated me and, no matter how compelling her motivation, I can't see my way past that. But, at the same time, it's not easy to see her as a heartless monster. It's not easy to ignore my need for answers. I want an explanation, something to help me deal with the bitterness she's stirred up inside me and make sense of everything that has happened to me.

In hindsight I can recognize what a horrible mistake it had been but, regardless, I had once trusted Lorena completely. There wasn't a part of my life or my heart to which she hadn't been granted full access. In fact, there had been a time in my life when she had been the _only_ person I trusted and now… Now I can't think of her without feeling sick. And while part of me wants to confront her if only for the sake of closure, part of me also knows that I will never be satisfied no matter what she tells me because I will never be able to believe a word she says ever again.

Still, the "whys" persisted nonetheless. Why did Sin Rostro have me kidnapped? Why did she hold me captive for so long? Why did she go out of her way to destroy me and my family this way? Had her hatred for me been that strong? Was she really so angry that I kept going after her that she had to ruin my life? Why have a personal vendetta against me when I was nothing more than a cop doing his job?

The questions kept plaguing me and there were only two people in the entire world who could answer them for me: Lorena and Sin Rostro herself. I'd have to swallow my pride and approach one of them. And since Lorena wasn't an option, I decided to go with the only choice that remained.

I wrestled with the decision for a full week before finally committing to the idea that I would visit Rose Solano in prison. When I announced my plans to my family and therapist, however, it did not go over very well. My parents thought it was a lunatic decision and Dr. Beavers was adamant that I was risking a setback if I did but it felt like something I _had_ to do. I needed the answers. I knew I'd never be able to move on with my life without them. So this morning, I got up and I got dressed and I went to visit Rose Solano in the state penitentiary where she was currently serving her prison sentence.

Dr Beavers was right. It did turn out to be a terrible mistake but I think it's one I'm glad I made.

 _"_ _Detective Cordero," she greets me with a pleasant smile, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" I am amazed at how poised and coolly unruffled she seems even in a bright, orange prison jumpsuit and with the prospect of life in prison before her. She exudes confidence. It is as if she knows that she still holds all of the cards._

 _Conversely,_ _ **I**_ _am sweating and jittery with nerves. My heart is pounding so hard and so fast I fear my emotions might actually get the better of me at any moment. "I'm not a detective anymore," I tell her, my jaw set tight with anger, "You should know that already…since it was you're the reason I'm not."_

 _She emits a small grunt of exaggerated regret. "What a shame that is too. I had so grown to love our game of cat and mouse. You were always so close but always one step behind. Don't you remember?"_

 _I don't have time for her games and I'm not in the mood to play coy so I dive straight to the reason for my visit. "You know why I'm here, Rose, so just admit that you've done! Tell me why!"_

 _She blinks at me with wide, innocent eyes and says, "I have no idea what you mean, Detective. What is it that you've think I've done?"_

 _It takes all I have to keep from banging my fist against the bulletproof partition that separates us. Thankfully so, because I would gladly wring her neck at this moment. "You know damn well what I'm talking about," I flare, "You killed my brother! You had me kidnapped! You ruined my life! I want to know why!"_

 _"_ _You give me far too much credit, Detective Cordero. While all of that does sound very much like my mode of operations, I've been in prison all this time so how could I possibly be responsible for all those bad, bad things?"_

 _"_ _Don't play games with me! I know you have a network of flunkies just waiting for the chance to do your bidding!"_

 _"_ _Maybe I had that sort of power once, Detective, but not anymore. Thanks to Rafael…and you."_

 _"_ _You're lying. But it doesn't matter because I'm going to nail you for everything you've done. And, if I get my way, you'll die in here…maybe sooner than you expect."_

 _"_ _Should you really be handing out prison sentences right now? From what I've heard, you'll be in a cell of your own soon. Didn't you try to kill my dear stepson recently?"_

 _"_ _I'm sure that's what you wanted but it didn't happen and it's not going to happen. There's no way I'm letting you turn me into something I'm not. You've stolen enough from me already."_

 _"_ _Good luck proving it."_

 _I grip the phone so hard I'm surprised it doesn't snap in two. "Just tell me why you did it."_

 _She leans in close then, her mouth set in a grim line when she states in a tone as hard as steel, "You and Rafael stole everything that ever mattered to me. Luisa, my freedom, my business, the respect of my associates. I had nothing and no one. Rafael ruined me but_ _ **you**_ _gave him the ammunition to do it."_

 _"_ _You're a criminal, Rose, and a killer. If you lost anything, you brought it on yourself."_

 _"_ _Oh, Detective, so self-righteous and indignant, even after everything you've done. It seems to me that you're just as much a killer as I am." Her mouth curls in a slow smile of satisfaction. "Or, at least, you have the potential to become one."_

 _"_ _Only because of you…because you messed with my head!"_

 _"_ _Again, you'll have to prove that. In the meantime, you should know that I'm still one step ahead."_

 _"_ _How do you figure that? You're in prison and you're never getting out. Not to mention the fact that your little plan failed. I didn't kill Rafael and I'm not going to be your pawn anymore either. You did all of this for nothing!"_

 _"_ _Did I?" Her smile doesn't falter an iota. It remains a chilling, unsettling smirk full of self-assurance. "Maybe you didn't kill Rafael and maybe you won't go to prison for attacking him but I still own you, Detective Cordero." She taps her temple, her ice blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I'm in here. No matter where you go or what you do, I'll always be in your head. That is_ _ **your**_ _prison and you'll always know that_ _ **I'm**_ _the one who put you there."_

The encounter left me shaken and dissatisfied, not because I hadn't gotten her to confess to what she had done because I hadn't really expected that she would. Instead, I found myself terrified that she might be right after all. What is she _was_ still in my head? What if what happened with Rafael was just the beginning of something more sinister?

After I left the state detention center behind, eager to put as much distance between me and Rose Solano as I could, I continued to ponder the veracity of her words. Maybe she _did_ still own me. I can't be sure what she put in my head or if what happened with Rafael the other night was an isolated incident. She had easily exploited my deepest insecurities. What other weaknesses had she discovered?

Maybe it could happen again. And what if it did? What if I hurt someone I hurt Jane or, worse yet, Mateo?

For the first time since Jane cut off contact with me I'm actually _glad_ she did it. I'm relieved that she ran and it certainly seems like she made the right call. Right now, I don't know what I'm capable of. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's the reason she cut off contact with me in the first place. She knows I'm too dangerous and unstable to be around her and Mateo.

Anyone else facing such a bleak prospect of existence would have probably gone out and drank themselves into unconsciousness after that but my practical side wasn't having that. After all, it's still relatively early in the morning and boozing it up certainly didn't seem like the wisest choice. I've got a tentative enough hold of my life as it is. I don't need to take the chance of being arrested again and, in my current state of mind, that was a distinct possibility. So, I decide on an alternative then and that was how I found myself standing in line on the boardwalk for a fancy, food truck coffee.

After I finish making my purchase, I turn to head towards the beach, hoping that a walk in the fresh air will help to settle my jumbled thoughts when I catch a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. And it feels like every bit of progress I've made in the last few weeks is reduced to nothing. _Rogelio._

My former father-in-law and self-appointed best friend. He is crossing the street with a baby stroller, manning it with one hand and eating an ice cream cone with the other. For a brief moment, I'm overjoyed to see him again and I want to call him over but then I remember that talking to him likely would lead to talking about Jane and I'm in a headspace for that. Better I leave without acknowledging him at all.

Unfortunately, he spots me just as I've decided to against flagging him down and the choice is taken out of my hands. His face brightens with a happy smile and he quickly starts making his way over to me. I stand there anxiously while he closes the distance between us. Every muscle in my body is aching with tension as I try to prepare myself for the exuberant hug I know is coming.

"Michael!" he cries before throwing his arms around me in a rib crushing embrace, "My good friend! How have you been? I have missed you so much!"

I step away to favor him with a nervous, but genuine smile. "Oh hey, Rogelio. How's it going?"

"How is it going?" he repeats with his typical dramatic flair, "How is it going? You fall off the face of the earth for _an entire month_ and you seriously ask me how is it going?"

"Uh…well, there is a restraining order so…"

"Yes. Yes, I'm aware," he commiserates, "That is unfortunate. But you and I are friends and I do not have a restraining order against you. You should have leaned on me during this difficult time."

"I'm sure that would have been awkward. I did put your grandson's father in the hospital after all."

"Also very unfortunate. I will admit that I was shocked when I heard of your altercation with Rafael," Rogelio replies, "But I know you, my friend. I am sure you had a valid reason for reacting as you did. Besides, he's fine now and he required only a little plastic surgery."

"That's not really the point."

"You're right. The point is that we have had this distance between us for too long. It is time for us to bring the bromance back. There is no reason for you to feel ashamed or isolate yourself. You can always confide in me, Michael."

His willingness to give me the benefit of the doubt makes me feel extremely grateful but also rather undeserving at the same time. It's humbling to know that Rogelio finds it so easy to believe in me when I don't believe in myself. How can I when I'm unsure if Rose really manipulated me into fighting Rafael or if she simply brought to the surface something that was already there. That self-doubt makes me feel unworthy of Rogelio's unswerving loyalty.

I can feel an acrid, burning lump of sentimentality form in the back of my throat and, in a desperate attempt to maintain my composure, I steer the conversation in a completely different direction. Careful to conceal the sudden tears that form in my eyes, I quickly steer the conversation in a different direction before my emotions can overwhelm me. "Speaking of Mateo," I say in a deceptively casual tone, "How is that kid?"

"Growing like a weed," Rogelio relays proudly, "I wouldn't be surprise if he's shot up an inch in the last month. He is changing so fast, Michael. That's the thing with children. They grow so quickly and it's easy to miss the important things."

He has a wistful, far-off expression as he speaks and I know it's because he's reflecting on all of the "important things" that he missed with Jane. I, however, am thinking about the "important things" _I_ am missing with Mateo. That's been the hardest part of my strained relationship with Jane. While I have very few regrets about locking her out of my heart, it has been next to impossible to do that with Mateo. Even making the attempt leaves me hollow inside. I just miss him too much.

"He misses you too," Rogelio murmurs, no doubt reading my thoughts plainly on my face, "He often asks about you. You should call him."

I snort humorlessly. "Yeah, I'm sure that would go over real well with his parents, Rogelio."

"You could try," he insists.

This is yet another discussion I don't want to have because talking about talking to Mateo or spending time with him only reminds me that I have no real rights to him at all. Not to mention that it would be a criminal offense to even go near him right now. Debating what part I can have in his life, if any at all, seems pointless. And so, I deftly change the subject once again. I turn my attention to the stroller and the sleeping baby bundled inside of it. She is snuggled deep within the blankets but I can still catch a glimpse of her cherubic, little face and dark ringlets peeking through.

"So who do you have here?" I ask, stooping down to get a closer at the baby, "Is this Baby Michaelina?"

"Yes, it is. I have been eager for you to meet her for some time now."

I can feel him watching me as I reach forward to drag a lone finger down the plump slope of his daughter's cheek. There is a quiet longing that unfurls inside of me as I look at her, a deep seeded desire to have a child of my own, a child that no one can take away from me. I have no idea where it comes from but it takes root quickly and I have a difficult time shaking it off. I'm upset to realize that even though I know exactly why it's so hard for me to dismiss the desire for a baby. But it's not something I'm willing to acknowledge out loud to anyone…ever.

Rogelio must sense the conflicting feelings inside of me because he asks me quietly, "Would you like to hold her?"

Reluctantly, I shake my head. "She's sleeping," I whisper, marveling at how small and sweet she looks, "I don't want to wake her." I glance up at him with a proud smile. "She's really beautiful, Rogelio."

"Isn't she? I was surprised because it doesn't appear that she has inherited my devastatingly good looks. Unfortunately, she favors her mother but I think she's stunning nonetheless."

"You don't think her mother is attractive?"

"Let's just say that there is an unpleasant ugliness inside of Darci Factor that radiates outward and destroys any facets of beauty she might possess."

I rise from my crouched position, easily discerning the underlying statement beyond his flowery response. "Bad relationship?"

"The worst."

"How did you meet her?" The name sounds familiar but I can't quite place where I've heard it.

"She was originally my matchmaker," Rogelio tells me, "We had a business arrangement to conceive a child together but the deal quickly turned sour due to Darci's unbearable shrew-like behavior."

"Oh…my…God…you mean you actually went through with it?"

"It is not as bad as it sounds. We separated and, unbeknownst to me, she was pregnant with my child. She revealed the truth to me shortly before Baby was born and we have had a rather amicable relationship since, mostly due to my magnanimous nature."

"So, what exactly happened with you and Xo?" I ask tentatively when he's finished his tale, "I guess you guys couldn't get past the baby disagreement after all if you decided to have a baby with Darci."

"Well, it's a very long and involved story, Michael, and I…" he gradually trails off into silence, his eyebrows snapping together in a deep frown. "Wait a minute…how did you know that Xiomara and I could not agree on children? We have never discussed that."

"Yes, we have," I reply in a mildly derisive tone because I think that should be obvious, "We've talked about it dozens of times before Jane and I got back together and after we got married too. It was a real sticking point for you, if I recall."

His eyes suddenly flare wide. "Wait a minute! Are you saying that you _remember_ those discussions?"

Now it's my turn to frown because I'm bemused by his stunned reaction. "Of course I remember them but, you already knew that."

He stumbles back a step, his mouth agape. "My God! This is incredible news!"

"Again, not news because you already knew."

"I most certainly did not know!"

"Sure you did," I insist but I am beginning to feel a shiver of uncertainty, "I told Jane. She's known for at least a month that all of my memory came back." Rather than easing him, the information seems to agitate him even further. "She…she didn't tell you?"

"No. No! She didn't say one word! Why would she do that? Why would she keep something so huge a secret, especially from me? She knows the special bond that you and I share!"

"Maybe it was too painful for her to talk about," I sigh, struggling to keep the disappointment out of my tone, "I know she was upset after everything that went down with Rafael. She probably just wanted to put it all behind her."

"That was not her decision to make," Rogelio mutters, "I know she is hurting but I cannot believe she would do such a thing to me."

"I'm sure she had her reasons, Ro. I can't give you the answers. You'd have to ask her."

I think we might be able to put an end to the whole painful discussion and I'll be able to make my exit but Rogelio ask yet another question and this one proves to be the hardest to answer. "Why didn't _you_ tell me, Michael? You should have called as soon as everything came back to you."

"I wanted to call you, Rogelio, I really did. But everything is so different now," I tell him, "I didn't really have an understanding of how much had changed until I remembered everything. Now, I get it. We've all moved on. We're in different places emotionally. It's not the same."

"You are still my best friend."

For some reason, the unreserved way he makes that statement breaks me down. I know I have to get out of there before I lose it entirely. "Rogelio, I really got to get going-,"

"—And Jane," he plows on stubbornly, "She still loves you, Michael. She misses you so much."

The words have a euphoric effect. For an instant my heart soars above the clouds, pumping fiercely with hope but then I remember the restraining order and the fact that she has ignored me for weeks and it plummets back down to the ground. _Hard._ I reject Rogelio's statement with a terse shake of my head. "Yeah, I doubt that."

"She does," Rogelio insists, "She just can't admit it right now because of Rafael!"

A chilling stoicism settles over me with the mention of his name. "Of course. It's always about Rafael."

"It's not what you think!" he bursts out, "Yes, it is true that Rafael and Jane share an undeniable connection due to Matelio but I know better than anyone that sharing a child with someone does not mean that they own your heart. _You_ are Jane's great, true love, Michael. You found each other again against almost insurmountable odds. You belong together."

"I used to believe that, Rogelio. Not anymore. Honestly, I'm glad it's over. I was sick of being the third point in that triangle anyway. Now I can move on with my life…finally."

"Are you saying this because you still have residual feelings for your girlfriend from Texas?"

"What? No. Did you not listen to a word I just said? I'm over Jane."

"You are a very bad liar, Michael Cordero. This is nothing more than heartbroken confusion. I know that you foolishly think you're in love with this woman from Texas but you are deluding yourself. Is that why you have decided to keep your distance from Jane…for this transient infatuation?"

"This has nothing to do with Lorena."

"It has everything to do with her if that is the reason you are giving up on Jane!"

"I'm not giving on Jane," I retort sharply, "She's giving up on me! She asked me to stay away and so I have. It's not about Lorena! She's not even in my life anymore!"

Once again, Rogelio appears dumbfounded by my words. "She's not?"

"No. She's in jail for her part in my kidnapping. Why would you think otherwise?"

Rogelio blinks at me in doubletake. "I'm sorry. You said she's where for what?"

"She kept me hidden on Sin Rostro's order," I clarify briskly, "It was all a set-up. She knew who I was the entire time."

 _"_ _What?"_

"You didn't know that either?" I'm curious about whether Jane's silence was deliberate or whether she simply hadn't known. If she had never listened to my many messages, it was entirely possible. I had never considered that she might not have listened until this second. It changes my perspective on her silence these past weeks but not too much.

"I told Jane all of this almost a month ago." It had primarily happened in voice mail and once by letter but I _had_ told her.

"That is very interesting to hear. I will be sure to have several stern words with her later," Rogelio declares with an offended sniff, "She has a lot of explaining to do."

I don't want to start obsessing over all the possible reasons why Jane hadn't updated her family so I try to quickly wrap up the conversation. I've only just untangled myself from her emotionally. I can't go falling back into that same hurt filled pit again.

"Like I said before, Rogelio, I'm sure she has her reasons for not saying anything and you should talk to her," I say as preface for my goodbye, "I don't want to hold you up anymore. You've got the baby and I'm sure you have some place else to be."

"This is more important," he replies with quiet emphasis.

"Actually…," I hedge, already poised to make my exit, "I need to be on my way too."

"Wait!" he cries before I can take a step, "You can't go yet! We've barely talked! Am I even going to see you again?"

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea, Rogelio. You know Jane wouldn't be comfortable with that."

"But would _you_ be comfortable with it?"

I want to be honest with him and tell him how much I miss our friendship but I know if I do tell him it will only cause more confusion. He already resents Jane. I don't want to be the reasons they're at odds. I've already complicated Jane's life enough. But, on the other hand, I don't want to lie to Rogelio either because, after all he's done to support me, he deserves better than that. There's really no good way that this can end at all. So, I take the path of least resistance and I retreat instead.

"It was really good seeing you again, Rogelio," I tell him as I back away, "But I'm sorry. I have to go now. Take care."

He calls after me but I'm already turned on my heel and walking away before he can say anything more. And, though it kills me, I don't look back.


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two (Jane POV)**

"Well…that sucks."

I stare down at the two fuzzy, pinkish purple lines on the pregnancy test indicator and I honestly don't know whether to laugh or cry. One line means negative. Two lines mean…well, you get it. Like I said, it sucks. I can practically hear Abuela in my ear whispering that a baby is a gift from God, reminding me of how long I've wanted this very thing. At the same time, however, I can't ignore how ill-timed it is.

This isn't really crushing news for me. I've suspected that I might be pregnant for a week now. I bought the test and then promptly shoved it to the back of my underwear drawer because I didn't have the guts to take it. Today, after six agonizing days of vacillating, I finally worked up the courage and did it. And the results were just as I'd anticipated but, that doesn't make dealing with the reality any easier.

The signs had been obvious for some time. The occasional nausea I would feel at random times of the day, the odd, achy feeling in my breasts, my sudden sensitivity to strong odors. I've also had a few bouts with dizziness but the possibility didn't really, truly hit me until I missed my period. And, even then, I hadn't been too worried because that had been a common occurrence for me for some time now.

My menstruation had been a spotty mess ever since Michael's "death." The constant stress under which I had been living had made my cycle irregular for years. Despite that, I remained on the pill and took it religiously until my life fell apart _again_ with Michael's return. Also, excluding that day with Michael at his mom's house, I haven't had sex in months. What were the chances that I'd actually gotten pregnant from that one encounter, even if it had been unprotected?

Apparently, pretty good.

So, here I am, seated on the toilet, panties around my ankles with a positive pregnancy test in my hand and tears of disbelief filling my eyes. Hoorah. It's strange because for a long time now I've wanted a second child. Ever since Michael and I had that scare before he "died" I've been entertaining the thought of having another baby. My desire to give Mateo a sibling only became stronger when Rafael and I became involved again. But back then, I'd thought that we would have children together. And now…

Now I find myself pregnant with Michael's baby and we're not even on speaking terms.

Nearly everything in my life is unrecognizable to me at the moment. The simmering tension between me and Rafael is finally starting to ebb a little but he still becomes irrationally angry whenever Michael is mentioned. The restraining order he put in place has remained a source of contention between us. I didn't want it at all but Rafael insisted that it was the best option we had to protect our family. At the time, Michael was so insistent on seeing me that he seemed erratic and almost beyond reason so when Rafael suggested it, I initially agreed.

But once the heat of anger and fear had dissipated, I found myself regretting the choice, mostly because in my heart I don't truly believe Michael would hurt me or Mateo. I know that in my gut even if I can't offer any concrete proof to the conviction. Which I'm sure is the reason that trying to convince Rafael of that has proven to be a fruitless effort. The idea that I would want to maintain any type of contact with Michael at all easily sends him into a rage. He questions my sanity, my feelings for him, the value I place on our friendship and even my abilities as a mother if I even bring it up.

And so, for the sake of peace, I've cut off all contact with Michael and I tell myself that it's for the best but, my feelings for him haven't changed. It's a little disconcerting considering what I witnessed when he attacked Rafael but I haven't completely let go of the hope that there is an explanation for his behavior. He had seemed so sincere in that first week after that incident, so full of tearful remorse. I had so wanted to believe him.

But I couldn't ignore what happened to Rafael or how strongly he felt about keeping Michael away. It had been difficult but I did as he asked. I agreed to the restraining order. I rejected Michael's every attempt to see me. I deleted all of his texts and voice mails and eventually blocked his number altogether. I did everything I possibly could to cut him out of my life…and I died a little bit every day with each severed tie.

In the meantime, I've had plenty of people in my corner reassuring me that I had made the right decision. Petra, my mom and even Abuela all seem to believe that I should maintain my distance from Michael and focus on rebuilding my relationship with Rafael. They've all maintained a unified stance. I should reconcile with Rafael for Mateo's sake. According to them, being with Rafael again is the most logical conclusion because we have a child together and we have history. And, most importantly, Rafael still loves me. _Don't I owe it to him and myself to try?_ I wonder if they would change their tunes if they knew that Michael and I were going to have a child together too.

The thought causes reality to settle upon me with renewed intensity. I am pregnant with Michael's baby and I have no idea what the hell I'm going to do next. I have to tell him, of course. He deserves the chance to be a father to his child, the same chance that I gave to Rafael when I found out about Mateo. But the recognition of that fact is much easier than the actual execution. Because telling Michael means that I have to talk to him and talking to him means I have to talk to Rafael and talking to Rafael means… Yeah, I don't even want to _think_ about what it means. Besides that, under the circumstances, I'm not even completely sure if I should go through with the pregnancy.

Certainly a part of me wants to go through with it but I'm not entirely sure that would be the wisest choice. I have to think in the long-term and not simply go with the quickest, most emotional decision. Rafael and Michael do not get along at all. In fact, that's putting it mildly. They despise each other with a virulence that is past all logic and Michael especially has made it ridiculously clear that he wants Rafael dead. That doesn't exactly lend itself to a peaceful co-parenting environment.

Furthermore, Rafael would _never_ accept Michael's presence in our lives. And, as Mateo's father, I know I should consider whether his concerns are valid. Michael _did_ nearly kill him. He had to spend two days in the hospital after their fight. We even had to go so far as to lie to Mateo about his injuries. I completely understand why Rafael wouldn't be interested in giving Michael another chance to prove himself, baby or not.

I can't let myself minimize what happened. Still, I must admit that I've been leaning towards the tendency to do that of late. If I'm completely honest, I've actually been looking for a reason to justify Michael's actions ever since it happened. After all, Rafael _did_ start the fight. He set the whole thing in motion. I've pointed that same fact out to Rafael several times now but somehow he always manages to flip it back around on me and I'm the one who ends up apologizing.

Maybe that's because I know that I'm trying to excuse the inexcusable. But I also can't forget how remorseful Michael seemed when he showed up at the Marbella that day, how he had begged me again and again to talk to him, how he had pleaded with me not to give up on us. That day he hadn't appeared to be a man in love with another woman or a conscienceless, abusive jerk capable of coldblooded murder at all. He seemed instead like a man misunderstood, a man fighting for the woman he loved…fighting for _me_.

Unfortunately, whenever I've tried to discuss with Rafael that there might have been something more to that day than we think, he shuts me down and accuses me of being blinded by my feelings. Inevitably, my judgment is brought into question. Before long we're arguing about Mateo's safety and whether I'm truly able to put him first and I eventually acquiesce. I always acquiesce because I can't reasonably explain why I still have faith in Michael.

That is partly the reason I've taken such a hard line with Michael and cut him off so completely. What kind of mother would put a man above the well being of her child? I don't want to be that type of mother. I don't want to be selfish. But now there's a pregnancy involved and suddenly I find myself considering Michael's place in my life all over again. I can't pretend he doesn't exist. Doesn't he have a right to know his own child?

Of course, I do have another choice but that's not one I want to consider at all. Abortion. The option flitters through my mind briefly before I discard it. This is the baby that I have always wanted with Michael, the one I wished for daily after he "died." I think about that night we had together, how tenderly he had kissed and touched me, how cherished I felt and I have no doubts. No matter what the state of our relationship is now, our baby had been conceived in love. Unexpected and unplanned definitely, but not unwanted. Even now, when I've only known of its existence for ten minutes, I have love for my baby. I want to protect it.

I want to keep it.

But I'm not ignorant to the complications that will arise if I do. As much as I dread the disappointment that will surely darken my grandmother's face when she learns that I'm about to become an unwed mother… _again_ , it is Rafael's possible reaction that is causing me the most anxiety. He hates Michael so much. What if he transfers that animosity and anger to my child? What if he tries to cause a division between this baby and Mateo? Would he even make it easy for me to co-parent with Michael? And Michael? Would he be willing to amicably share custody with me or would this become a matter for the courts to decide? I don't know the answers and it is the unknown that frightens me the most.

I have to stamp down the desire to call Michael right this second and spill everything but I have no idea how to begin. We haven't spoken to each in a month. And the interactions we _have_ had have consisted of me telling him to leave me alone and threatening to have him arrested. How do I know that he's not over it by now, over me? How do I know that when I call Lorena won't answer his phone?

That prospect scares me more than it should. It's not that I want Michael to be alone and miserable. I want him to be happy. He _deserves_ to be happy after everything he's been through but… Whenever I imagine Lorena holding his hand and reassuring him that _she_ can be all the things that he needs, I feel sick inside and it's not pregnancy induced nausea that does it.

Under the circumstances it makes zero sense for me to be jealous and yet I am. I don't want him to love her. I certainly don't want him to commit to a relationship with her. Because if that happens, if he actually moves on with her then that means that it is really and truly over between us and I don't know if I'm ready to accept that. The entire situation is a confusing mess and so am I.

After what feels like forever, I finally find the wherewithal to rise from the toilet and clean myself up even though I still haven't figured out what I'm going to do. I have just finished carefully stuffing the pregnancy test applicator and the box deep into the trash and I am in the process of washing my hands when the doorbell rings. In no rush, I check to make sure that I've properly disposed of the evidence, because God forbid if Abuela or Mateo find it, and the doorbell chimes three more times in rapid succession as I do.

A little concerned by the urgency my unknown visitor is displaying, I make a dash for the front door. But when I pull it open my anxious curiosity quickly turns to annoyance when I find my father standing on the other side. "What are you doing? Why didn't you just use your key?"

He storms past me into the house with an enraged huff. "I'm so angry that I forgot I had one!"

"Oh," I say, watching with wary eyes as he begins to pace the length of the living room, "Um…Dad? Is this about Esteban and Darci? Because I have to be at the Marbella in an hour and a half so, if you're going to rant, make it a quick one."

"This time it is not Esteban or Darci who has dealt me the crushing blow of betrayal but you, my beloved firstborn daughter, who has shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces!"

"Huh?"

"How could you not tell me that Michael had regained his memory?"

The mere mention of his name out loud gives me a jolt. It's true that I think about him all the time but my family knows better than to mention him to me directly, especially my father. I'm barely able to rein in my irritation with him. "Dad, why are we talking about Michael right now?"

"Because you lied to me!"

"About what? You've known this whole time that his memory was coming back."

He shakes an accusing finger inches from the tip of my nose. "You know exactly what I mean," he hisses, "Michael has been drowning in a cauldron of pain and betrayal this entire time, struggling to come to terms with the heartbreak caused by that deceitful, traitorous Texas viper and you robbed him of unflagging support from his dearest friend! You robbed _me_!"

I knock his finger aside with an angry scowl. "I have no idea what you're talking about right now and I would appreciate it if you would stop yelling at me!"

"Don't you dare play that innocent role with me! You're embarrassing yourself now," he scoffs, "I have played that role a million times before and with much more gravitas."

"You're really starting to scare me, Dad," I tell him calmly, "Have you been drinking? Is that what's going on?"

His façade of anger drops then and is replaced with earnest pleading. "Please, stop it, Jane! I have no patience for this act! Just tell me why!"

"It's not an act!" I cry in exasperation, "I really don't know what you're talking about!"

"So you had no idea that Michael had regained his full memory?" he prompts in a speculative tone, "This is news to you?"

I literally forget to exhale. Air suspends in my lungs painfully as the full weight of what he's telling me begins to settle. I struggle to regain my bearings. "Wait. Wait. Wait," I implore again and again, "What are you saying? Are…are you telling me that Michael can remember us, like _really_ remember us…like remember _everything_?"

For the first time since he arrived, my father's aggravation with me dissolves and is replaced with surprise. "You didn't know?"

"No! Of course, I didn't know! This is huge news! Do you think I would keep something like that to myself?" He's flailing around verbally for a response to that rhetorical question when I begin pelting him with more. "How did you find out? How do you know for sure? Who told you that Michael had his memory back? When did it happen?"

"Michael told me. Today. I saw him this morning when I was taking Baby on her weekly stroll to the beach."

"And he just told you that he remembered you? How did that come up?"

"He asked me about Baby and whether Xiomara and I had ever been able to settle our differences about children," he says, "He thought I already knew."

I regard him with a confused frown. "Why would he think that?"

"Michael said that he told you weeks ago."

I'm about to refute that claim when the answer suddenly smacks me hard in the face. All of those days of texts and voice messages and his endless attempts to explain himself, he had been trying to tell me the whole time. I'd thought he wanted to justify his actions that night. I had been so afraid that he'd succeed in convincing me with his version of the events and move me to forgive him that I'd held him at arm's length. And, because of that fear, I have missed so much.

Michael has his complete memory back and I can only imagine what must be going through his mind right now. He remembers the details of how we met and fell in love and got married. He remembers the accidental insemination and how my resulting pregnancy tore us apart. He remembers when I ended our engagement so that I could explore my feelings for Rafael.

But far beyond our relationship woes, he must remember the specifics of our last day together too. He must recall his kidnapping in minute detail and where he's been these five, long years. That's when it fully hits me that he also must remember the person or persons who hurt him.

"Did he tell you anything else?" I ask Dad a little desperately, "Did he mention his kidnapping at all or…or what really happened that day he went to take the LSAT?"

"He said that his friend from Texas was involved in his kidnapping and that now she is in jail."

For a second time, I'm reeling. I actually stumble against a nearby chair because it feels like my knees might buckle. "What? Lorena? She's in jail? She was involved? Talk, Dad! Tell me what's going on!"

"Yes, she was involved. Michael said that she always knew who he was and that she was hired to keep him in ignorance by the same criminal mastermind who had Matelio kidnapped."

"Oh my God…" I stagger forward and sink down into the chair, my mind racing a thousand miles per minute. This last month I've been imagining him embarking on some torrid love affair and in reality he had been wrestling with a huge betrayal. It was very likely on the level of me breaking off our first engagement to be with Rafael. "Oh God," I groan, "He must be so devastated right now. She was the person he trusted most in the world, Dad, and now this. He really _did_ love her."

"I don't know how he feels. He didn't really go into great detail about it," Dad says, "But I could plainly see that he was struggling. He did not seem happy."

"Oh my God," I groan again, slumping down into the chair. The more I think about Michael dealing with that enormous truth on his own for weeks now while I rejected him over and over, the more agitated I become. I'm inundated with the need to make it right. Driven by that need, I bolt upright again and dart to my feet to search for my phone. "I need to call him. God only knows what he's thinking right now! I need to make sure he's okay." I think about our baby growing inside of me and my determination to talk to him is only doubled.

However, just as I locate my purse on the kitchen counter and head towards it, Dad gently sidesteps me to keep me from making the attempt. When I try to get around him, he blocks me again. We do this two more times before I finally lose my patience. I glare at him. "What are you doing?"

"Perhaps you should wait," he advises carefully.

"Wait?" I echo dubiously, "You tell me that Lorena Diaz took part in Michael's kidnapping and then spent _months_ gaslighting him and you want me to wait?"

"Yes. I don't think it's a good idea to call him."

"Why not, Dad?"

"As you know, I can be very a perceptive person and I had the impression that Michael would like to _detach_ himself from you…from all of us really, at least for the time being."

"Detach himself?" I repeat, my voice weak as a leaden lump of dread settles in the pit of my stomach.

"Yes. He…um…he doesn't want to see you."

I bite back the whimper of dismay that threatens to escape me. Of course, that possibility had been the secret fear of mine for the past month. On some level, I was expecting it but, even still, the confirmation leaves me feeling like I've been socked in the chest. "I…I know he's probably upset but… He didn't say that exactly, did he?"

"He didn't have to say it exactly, Jane. He wants to start over. That much was clear to me. I think it would be best to respect his wishes and let him work through it on his own."

"Is that something _you_ think he should do?"

Dad averts his eyes from me at the question and his action is telling. "What I think does not matter," he hedges, "We must do what Michael wants, what _he_ thinks he needs."

"Why? What did he actually tell you, Dad?" But even as I voice the question I know I don't want to hear the words out loud.

He shakes his head and turns away from me. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Ten minutes ago you were ready to bite my head off," I remind him wryly, " _Now_ you want to tiptoe around my feelings? Come on, Dad!"

"That was when I thought you had deliberately kept the truth from me," he replies, "This is different. I cannot knowingly break your heart when I know you do not deserve it."

My vision blurs as reflexive tears fill my eyes. "So you're saying that it _will_ break my heart?" Once again, I think of the child I'm carrying and how I will ever sort out the mess that everything has become.

"Michael is very hurt, Jane. He told me that he's glad it's over between you and that he doesn't want to be in the middle of you and Rafael any longer. Of course, I don't believe him but that is beside the point. It is how he feels."

"But there's no basis for it! He's not between me and Rafael! He never has been!"

Dad whispers my name softly, soothing me with his voice. "Come now. See things from Michael's point of view. You haven't spoken to him in weeks," he reminds me in a gentle tone, "You never even gave him a chance to explain himself but simply cast him out of your life forever without any discussion."

"That's not fair, Dad. Raf-,"

"—Instigated the dispute with Michael in the first place," Dad finished before I can begin my argument, "What did Rafael think would happen when he threw that punch? He _wanted_ a fight. But _Michael_ is the one who has taken all the blame and _that's_ not fair."

"Rafael was in the hospital, Dad. Michael put him there!"

"And his own actions led to that unhappy event! I'm not saying that I excuse what Michael did but he did not act alone!"

"I hear what you're saying but, Rafael is Mateo's father," I argue softly, "He's my best friend. I would have never made it through these last five years without him. He has given me so much and I've already broken his heart too many times to count. I can at least give him my loyalty. I…I owe him that. He deserves to have me on his side in this."

"What does Michael deserve?"

His words are quiet and free of accusation but I flinch guiltily nonetheless. "I don't know," I mumble thickly, "I'm trying to do the right thing but I don't even know what that is anymore."

"Is it the right thing for you?"

I haven't considered the answer to that question in nearly a month. Frankly, what's "right" for me seems irrelevant these days. "Does it even matter at this point, Dad?" I sigh wearily, "I keep hurting them both even when I'm trying not to."

"Listen to me, Jane," Dad implores fervently, "I have stood by quietly and tried to respect your decisions these last few weeks but now I must tell you what I think. While I have not known you as long as your mother and Alba, I like to believe that you have _my_ instincts, _my_ heart. It is our genetic bond. You love in the same way that I love and when you give your heart away, it is for a lifetime.

"And I have nothing against Rafael personally. I believe that he is a good father to Matelio and he has been good to you. But he is not the man who holds your heart. That is Michael. It has always been Michael. He is the best part of you, like Xo is the best part of me. Until you stop apologizing to Rafael for not loving him the way he wants you to, you will never be truly happy, Jane.

"You had his child," he whispers, pulling me into his arms as his words batter down my defenses and I start to cry, "That doesn't mean you owe him a family."


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three (Michael POV)**

Seems like this is the day for confrontations.

But as I pull the car into the driveway and notice Jane's car at the curbside and then Jane herself sitting on my mother's front porch the last thing I want to do is talk, _especially_ to her. There are a myriad of emotions that go through me at the sight of her and the least of them is happiness. Honestly, seeing her again fills me with dread. And though I've been expecting her visit ever since I ran into Rogelio four days ago, I still don't feel prepared to face her.

I am not in the mood to hash it out with her right now because I expended all of my emotional energy this afternoon when, against my better judgment, I went to see Lorena. My conversation with Sin Rostro left me unsatisfied and even more desperate for answers. I wasn't expecting Lorena would be able to provide me with actual perspective but I did hope she could fill in the gaps that Rose had left behind. I also wasn't expecting to feel so vulnerable in her presence either but when I saw her again it felt like my legs had been kicked out from under me.

 _"_ _I didn't think you would come," she says, sliding into the empty chair across from me, "Thank you."_

 _She wears the standard prison issue and her appearance is haggard and worn. She looks like she hasn't slept in days and I can detect a fine tremor in her hands when she places them on the table between us. It's clear that this past month has been hellish for her. I condition myself not to care. Even when she asks in a tremulous tone, "Have you heard from Marcel at all?"_

 _"_ _He's safe, Lorena. I made sure that he went into protective custody after you were arrested."_

 _"_ _Thank you so much," she sighs gratefully, practically wilting in relief with the news, "You have no idea…" She buries her face in her hands briefly. "I've been so worried about him."_

 _"_ _I'm not heartless, Lorie."_

 _There must be a flicker of censure detectable in my words or my expression because she says, "But you think I am, don't you?" When I don't answer because my feelings are plainly visible on my face, she fires, "Well, if you think I'm so horrible why did you come here at all?"_

 _I lean back in my chair and regard her with a cool expression, hoping to appear calmer than I feel right then. "I almost didn't," I tell her, "I still don't know why I did."_

 _"_ _Maybe you don't hate me as much as you think," she reasons._

 _"_ _Nah. Not that. I hate you quite a lot actually. I'm just trying to figure out your angle."_

 _"_ _Or…maybe you wanted to give me the opportunity to explain myself," she maintains obstinately._

 _I don't bother to argue that conjecture with her because I suppose there is some truth to it. I know all too well how it feels to be cut off without a chance to defend yourself. The frustration and helplessness you feel almost eats you alive. I don't want to do the same thing to Lorena that's been done to me, even if part of me thinks she deserves it._

 _"_ _So go ahead," I invite her tersely, "Tell your side of it."_

 _"_ _I've been working for Sin Rostro since I was 25 years old, ever since my father was killed."_

 _"_ _Oh great, so you've made a career out of being a duplicitous fraud. Good to know."_

 _"_ _Do you want to hear this or not?"_

 _Her obvious irritation with me only heightens my irritation with her but I concede her point because, ultimately, she is the one with all the answers and I did ask. "Fine. Go ahead."_

 _"_ _It's not like I had much of a choice," she snaps, "I could do what she wanted or I could die. Those were my options. I chose the lesser of two evils._

 _"_ _I never intended to care about you at all, Michael," she tells me, "When Tim and Ralph called me for help the plan was to drop by for an occasional check-up and be on my way. I didn't want to get involved any deeper than that but, when I saw the condition you were in, I knew I had to."_

 _"_ _Right. You cared so much but, you did absolutely nothing to get me out of there."_

 _"_ _I couldn't! But I did everything else I could to protect you!"_

 _"_ _Please spare me. You knew they were beating the hell out of me every chance they got!"_

 _"_ _Because you wouldn't break, damn it!" she cries, banging her hands against the table for emphasis. The loud crack reverberates throughout the sparsely furnished visiting area and Lorena receives a warning glare from the guard on duty. She takes a few moments to calm herself before she continues. "They'd work you over again and again because you would not give up. That's why they kept on you and that's why I kept coming back. Someone had to keep your stubborn ass alive!"_

 _I cross my arms defensively and glare at her. "Of course. That was the job."_

 _"_ _You were more than a job to me, Michael."_

 _"_ _Don't be such a martyr, Lorena. I don't buy it. Maybe all you really did for me was prolong the torture. Maybe I would have been better off if they had killed me." It's not the first time I've had the thought but it's the first time I've said it out loud._

 _"_ _That's crazy. You don't know what you're saying."_

 _"_ _No. I do. You didn't do me any favors so you can stop patting yourself on the back."_

 _"_ _I made it possible for you to get back to your wife, didn't I?"_

 _"_ _If you're waiting for a thank you, don't hold your breath!"_

 _"_ _I don't want a 'thank you!' I want you to stop painting me as the villain!"_

 _"_ _If the shoe fits…"_

 _"_ _You loved me once. And I loved you. I still love you. Don't act like that doesn't mean anything to you."_

 _"_ _Not here to talk about that," I evade defensively, "I want you to tell me why she did it. What was she after in the first place? Why did she hold me captive for so long? What's her endgame?"_

 _"_ _Haven't you figured that out yet? It's so simple it's actually funny. She wanted to destroy you and Rafael Solano and she knew, eventually, one of you would give her the ammunition to do it."_

 _"_ _What ammunition?"_

 _"_ _She was always going to go back to him, Michael. You knew that already. It was only a matter of time."_

The conversation plays itself again and again in my head in a sickening loop when I cut the ignition and climb from my car. Jane continues to wait on the porch when I do and I can tell, even from far off, that she is fidgeting nervously. I warily close the distance between us. I come to a stop when we are about ten feet apart. It's not a huge amount of space but, right at this moment, it feels like a gaping chasm. We regard one another in uncomfortable silence for several seconds before I finally break it.

"What are you doing here, Jane?"

My tone is flat and curt and I can tell from her expression that she doesn't know what to make of it. "I…I thought we should talk," she stammers.

"Um…you're about a month too late for that."

"I know I haven't been fair to you these past few weeks."

"Is that acknowledgment supposed to mean something to me?"

"You're angry with me," she discerns in an almost startled tone.

"Nope. I'm not angry." But even as I make the denial, I am trembling with barely leashed emotion. I _am_ angry. I'm angry that she chose to show up now, after so much time has passed, when I have only just begun to regain my bearings. I'm angry that this conversation that I practically _begged_ her for is now happening when I don't even give a damn anymore. I'm angry that she can still make me angry. But I don't tell her any of that. Instead, I say, "Just wondering what you want."

She glances behind her nervously, as if she's hoping for backup before turning to address me again. "I spoke to Rogelio the other day. He said you have your memory back."

"I do," I confirm without further elaboration, "You probably would have known that if you had listened to any of my messages."

"I know. I'm sorry. After what happened with Rafael and what I heard you say to Lorena, I was hurt and confused."

"What I said to Lorena…" I frown with the mention before belatedly recalling the moment she is referring to. "Well, that didn't mean anything. You misconstrued the situation. There's nothing between Lorena and me," I tell her but I refuse to elaborate further because, at this point, it's not important, "As for Rafael…I regret that day. A lot. I wish to God it had never happened and I've been working every day since to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"I'm sorry you had to deal with it alone," she murmurs.

I lift my shoulders in a careless shrug. "I got by. I survived five years on my own, Jane. I'm fine."

She briefly averts her eyes with a tearful sniffle and it's a very small consolation to know that my veiled dig hit its mark. "I was wrong, Michael. I shouldn't have shut you out like that and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I did."

"It doesn't matter now."

"Of course it matters," she chokes ardently, "I was really upset and I made a rash decision because I was scared and I regret that! But you were like a completely different person that day, Michael. I didn't know what to do or what to think."

"Neither did I. That's not who I am, Jane…or who I ever was. And if you don't know that…"

"I know that!" she rails sharply, "That's why I've been so confused. Even though I know the timing wasn't the best with Billy's funeral and everything, I thought things were going well between us that day. I don't know what happened after that, Michael. Tell me what happened."

"Rose happened. It was Rose," I tell her with a surprising lack of emotion, "She messed with my head a lot when she was holding me. Or, I should say, her hired goons messed with my head a lot. But it was on her order."

"So you remember all of it then?" she prompts in a tentative tone, "You remember everything that happened to you?"

I gesture for her to seat in one of my mother's outdoor chairs and then I take a seat as well. "I took the LSAT and I was feeling pretty good," I begin when we are both situated, "I was in line to retrieve my stuff when I started to feel sick. I think I must have passed out because I don't remember anything much after that. When I opened my eyes again, I was in an ambulance but it wasn't really an ambulance because there were these two guys with me who threatened to kill me if I gave them any trouble.

"I don't remember all the details of the ride because I think they must have been drugging me along the way but when I woke up, when I _really_ woke up, I was in that cell. At first, I didn't understand what was happening to me. Everything was fuzzy. Sometimes I thought I was dreaming. Other times, I was sure they were going to kill me but they didn't. They just held me there.

"I knew that you thought I was dead and I hated that. I _hated_ that I'd caused you that kind of pain but I couldn't get back to you. I couldn't escape. There was no one to help me. And those men…they taunted me about that every day, taunted me about you all the time. They terrorized me, starved me, beat me, pretty much made my life a daily living hell until one day they weren't there anymore and somehow I ended up in the hospital."

Jane regards me with a stricken expression. "Did…did they let you go?"

I shake my head. "They're dead. Rose had them killed and then she had Lorena feed me that line of bullshit about saving my life. She's been my handler this entire time and I didn't even know it."

"Oh my God, Michael. I thought she cared about you. Why would she do such a thing?"

"Same old story. 'I was protecting my family,' blah, blah, blah. Bottom line is, she knew what she was doing and she made a conscious choice to keep me from my family every, single day."

Throughout the entire retelling of my ordeal I've been strangely calm, rote, almost detached from the experience, like I'm recounting a story that happened to someone else. In many ways it _had_ happened to someone else because the Michael I used to be _did_ die in that cell and all that is left of him is the battered mess I am now. The Michael I've become is numb to the painful reality of it all. But Jane, on the other hand, is clearly reliving every horrifying detail.

She is looking at me with an expression that borders on agony. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. Her fists are crammed against her mouth to stifle the whimpers that escape her lips. I suspect that she wants to throw her arms around me in that moment, that she probably would if she didn't know for sure that I would reject the attempt.

When she finally speaks, her words are hoarse, so faint that I almost can't make them out. "So, how…how does Lorena fit into all of this? I know she was…was your 'handler.' Is that why Rose hired her? To keep an eye on you?"

"Her job was to keep me alive. I was no good to her boss if I ended up dead. It would put a crimp in Sin Rostro's whole master plan. And so that's what she did. She kept me relatively healthy while I was in the cell."

"So it's true? Lorena really _was_ involved in your kidnapping. She didn't just lie about what happened to you? She was in on the whole thing?"

"Yep. It just goes to show you what a lousy judge of character I am. First Nadine, then Susanna and now Lorena. It's a wonder I don't have worst trust issues than I already do."

"None of that is your fault, Michael. Nadine and Susanna were your partners. It made sense that you would trust them and Lorena… You thought she saved your life. She took advantage of you. She used you and she's the one who should be ashamed. Not you."

"I'm not ashamed. I'm angry. I'm so furious that I can't even breathe sometimes. Mostly at myself though because I should have known better. There are no guardian angels. You have to take care of yourself. Lesson learned. The only person I can count on to watch my back is me."

"That's not true," she whispers, "You can count on me, Michael."

I snort a disbelieving laugh at that avowal. "You have got to be kidding me with that!"

Even though she must see that I'm not relaxing my guard, she digs her heels in anyway. "Stop it! I know you're mad but be fair! I didn't suddenly stop caring about you! I've thought about you every day for the past month."

It's difficult for me to check the impulse to roll my eyes but I manage. "Yeah, I can tell. The endless phone calls were overwhelming."

She yelps my name in dismay. "Come on! Give me a break! Do you blame me for running after what happened at Billy's funeral?" she cries, "You were out of control that day! You tried to _kill_ him!"

"So I've been told over and over."

"It's like you were possessed! My mom had to knock you out with a dictionary!"

"Heard that too."

"So then you know that it was bad!"

"Yeah, I know! But you couldn't let me explain it?" I challenge bitterly, my mask of indifference slipping in a haze of anger, "You couldn't hear me out just once?"

"And if I had, could you have explained it?" she retorts, "Really, Michael?"

My bravado fizzles just as quickly as it flared because I know she's right. I _was_ out of control that day and while I still don't remember the details of what happened exactly I do know that those events landed me in jail. I am currently facing an assault charge because of what I did. I don't blame her for being afraid. I know she had valid reason to be so. But I can't ignore how easily she turned her back on me and, for that reason, I won't let her into my heart again. I can't. No one has ever hurt me that way she has and I'm having a hard time seeing past that pain.

"Not that day," I admit in a softer tone , "That day I was a mess and I didn't understand what was happening myself so I definitely couldn't have explained it to you."

"And now?"

"Now I know that Rose wanted me to hate Rafael. She used the resentment I already harbored for him against me. She spent those years having her men _groom_ me to go after him."

"What? Why?"

"Because she wanted me to kill him. She wanted to send me back to you and then watch as I destroyed us all. She used me as a weapon against the person I loved the most."

"Oh my God, Michael…"

"And I knew something was off with me for weeks. I talked to my therapist and he seemed to think it was normal but I didn't feel right."

"What do you mean?"

I pause to carefully formulate my reply in my mind before I speak again. "I was feeling a lot of animosity towards Rafael, having these really graphic dreams about hurting him, _killing_ him even," I confess, "Every time he was around, the feelings would grow stronger and stronger. It was like I blamed him for everything bad that happened to me, even though I knew that most of it wasn't his fault."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You couldn't have helped me even if I had," I sigh wearily.

She nibbles at her lip and I can tell by her expression that she doesn't know how to refute that statement. Instead she asks me, almost tentatively, "Do…do you still feel that way…like you hate Rafael, like you want to hurt him?"

I can detect the fear underlying her words and it makes me feel sick to hear it. I don't want her to be scared of me but this is the legacy that Rose Solano has left us to carry. It's always going to be between us because how will she ever be able to fully trust me again? How will I ever trust myself? Yet another reason why Jane and I are better off apart.

"I don't know. I'm still trying to sort through everything Rose did to me. I don't know how I feel about much of anything anymore."

Jane slumps back in her chair with a long, serrated exhalation of breath. "My God…I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe that Rose could do something so twisted. I mean I know she's psychotic but this is just beyond. Why? I don't understand why."

"Because she hates us," I reply simply, "She blames us because she lost Luisa and went to prison, especially Rafael. She has it in for him. She wanted him to lose everything because she lost everything. That's why she waited until you guys were involved again. That's why she held onto me for so long. She wanted to release me at the perfect moment, when it would do the most damage…when you were in love with him again."

Jane shakes her head in denial, her eyes welling with fresh tears. "No. Don't tell me that. Don't tell me that she kept you locked up this whole time for that!"

"She knew you would go back to him. You always do."

She stares down at her hands, which are fisted in her lap. "Michael, please…"

"And don't mistake me here. I'm not angry that you moved on. I'm _glad_ you did. I would never want you to mourn me forever. I've always wanted you to be happy, Jane. But did it have to be him? I can't get over the fact that it was _him yet again_."

"He's Mateo's father."

"Even more reason for you two to keep gravitating back together, huh?"

"Stop it! Rafael was there for me when I was going through hell after I lost you! He kept me sane, Michael! Don't make me feel guilty!"

"Maybe you feel guilty because you ultimately chose the guy who came between us," I remind her sharply, "We almost didn't get married because of him! Excuse me if I don't nominate him for sainthood! You _left_ me to be with him! You _wanted_ him! We were together for _two years_ and then he showed up and it was over! You walked away like we were nothing. And now, here we are, right back in the same place again."

"Michael, no! This is not the same thing! That's not how I feel anymore!"

"You don't know how you feel, Jane!" I retort angrily, bracing myself against comforting her when I see her tears even as I feel my own burn in my throat, "It's me then it's Rafael then me again then him! You've gone back and forth between the two of us for years now and I'm over it. I'm tired. I don't care anymore."

I'm not sure how much of what I'm saying to her is based on my actual feelings and how much of it is based in fear. Part of me is sick to death of the Rafael run around and just wants to be done with it. But a bigger part of me is terrified. I don't know what lurks inside of me right now. I don't know what I'm capable of and if I were to hurt her or, God forbid, Mateo that would devastate me. I could never get over that. And I can't take the chance. Until I can feel confident in myself again, I won't risk it. So I say things to her that I might have normally kept to myself, things I hope will ultimately drive her away.

"You want to be with him, Jane?" I demand of her, "Go with my blessing. Be with him. Just leave me the hell out of it."

"I don't want to be with him," she intones with an almost haughty air, "If I did, I would be with him right now. But I'm not. I'm with _you_ , Michael. I've always been with you."

"We both know that's not true."

"No. You're not thinking clearly at all," she reasons anxiously, "Everything that happened in the past and everything that's happening now is all mixed up in your head. I am _not_ going back and forth between you and Rafael! I fell in love with him again when I thought I had lost you forever. But I have always wanted _you_. That's why I married _you_. And I told you what I wanted that day you took Mateo camping and that hasn't changed at all, Michael."

"Stop! Just stop!" I cry before she can say more, "I'm sick of having this same conversation, Jane! Aren't you sick of it?" I surge to my feet, thinking that I just want to get away from her but she tries to grab my forearm to stop me. I wildly wave away her attempt to touch me. "NO! It's like you're always telling me. Rafael is Mateo's father and that takes precedent over everything else! Obviously there's an undeniable pull between you two or you wouldn't keep going back! And you know what? Maybe that's the best thing that can happen, for Mateo's sake at least!"

"What are you saying to me?"

"I'm saying that Mateo wants you and Rafael to be together. He loves the idea of the three of you being a family and I love him so, you should do that. You should be with him."

She stares at me in startled silence. "You don't mean that, Michael. I didn't believe you the first time you said it months ago and I don't believe you now."

"I absolutely _do_ mean it," I reply in a wooden tone, "This isn't me hiding from my feelings, Jane. I'm not running anymore. This is me being over it. So please, put us all out of our misery and marry Rafael already! Be a family with him. I won't be in your way."

"You're not in my way, Michael. I love you."

I throw up my hand as if physically staving off the intensity of her words. "I don't want to hear that, Jane. Stop saying it! Please. Please, don't make this harder for me. There's only so many times the Universe can prove to me that we don't belong together. So I'm letting go. It took me almost a decade but I'm finally ready to do it so, for the love of God, make it easy for me!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Every time we're together, there's a wrench. First, it was the pregnancy and then it was your feelings for Rafael and my insecurity, which is _still_ an issue for me, then _I died_ and you fell in love with Rafael again then I came back but I couldn't remember us so we still couldn't be together... The list goes on and on and on."

"I don't see it that way at all," she counters softly, whisking away the tears that fall on her cheeks, "I see the Universe putting us back together _every time_ we should have fallen apart. You came to terms with my pregnancy. I recognized my mistake when I chose Rafael and, while you might still struggle with some insecurity, deep down you know that I love you. You know it's always been you. We got married. I found you again after five years of thinking you were dead and, against all odds and even with no memory, you fell in love with me again. That's not the Universe telling us we shouldn't be together, Michael. That feels a lot like 'meant to be.'"

She pauses then, as if there is something more that she wants to tell me but then decides against it at the last second. I watch as she struggles to compose herself and stamp down every urge I have to inch forward and comfort her. When she speaks again her words are so hoarse with tears that they are almost unintelligible.

"After all of that, how can you think for one moment that we don't belong together?"

"I don't believe in 'meant to be' anymore and being in love with you hurts too much, Jane," I mumble, my words thick with emotion, "I feel like I fight and I fight for us to be together and we always end up in this same place. I just want to _try_ to move on. I need to know what my life looks like without you."

I dig around in my pocket for my keys then and edge around her to the front door, needing to put some distance between us quickly before her tears, and my own, wear down my determination. She hovers behind me as I struggle to slide the key into the lock. My hands are trembling as I do. I wonder vaguely if she can tell.

"Right now you're upset and I get it," she reasons from behind me, "It's a lot. You've been dealing with a lot on your own and you need some time to sort it through. I understand that. I can give you time." I twist the knob and push open the door. "Wait! Did you hear what I just said, Michael?" she asks when she recognizes my intent to leave her standing there.

"I heard you. I don't need time," I tell her, without turning back, "I need you to go."

When I step into the house and turn back to face her, she is gaping at me in disbelief. "You're not going to leave it like this between us, are you?"

"Actually, I'm reinforcing the decision you made a month ago," I reply coldly, "I don't want to see you again, Jane. I think it would be better if we weren't in each other's lives anymore. Please, don't come here again."

And even though it feels like someone just reached into my chest and yanked out my still beating heart, I find the strength to close the door. The last glimpse I have of her before I do is her beautiful face, the one that I have loved so much for so long, crumpled in an anguished grimace. I turn away from the door because I can't endure hearing her broken sobs and I don't want her to hear mine either.


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four (Jane POV)**

"There's no easy way to break this news so I'm just going to say it," I preface with a dramatic sigh, "I'm pregnant. And the baby is Michael's."

This is the second time in less than six months that I've had my mother, father and grandmother situated together on the couch to tell them something shocking. The first time, I was announcing a road trip which, incidentally, feels like a lifetime ago. Back then, Michael and I were just beginning to form a tentative friendship. And now, we're expecting a child together. Expectedly then, given the weighty nature of my announcement, I'm met with an array of exaggerated facial expressions.

Abuela, unsurprisingly, regards me with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. Mom…well, she's reserved, probably because she's suspected for a week now ever since morning sickness ( _which I never experienced with Mateo at all and is also a misnomer because no way in hell does it only happen in the morning_ ) has become my latest and most enduring pastime. I've been living on a steady diet of Gingerale and Saltines and keeping in close proximity of the bathroom. My mother is shrewd enough to recognize the signs. But my father's reaction is the most telling of all. He looks as if he's about to sail off into the stratosphere on a cloud of pure elation. However, his happiness is tempered an instant later with frowning confusion.

"Wait a minute. How are you having Michael's baby? You two haven't reconciled, have you? You kept that a secret from me?"

"No, Dad. Michael and I didn't reconcile."

I can now say the words without bursting into tears. Those first couple of days after our confrontation, however, I couldn't even _think_ about him without choking up. The pain felt like it would swallow me whole. But, eventually, I picked myself up again. After all, I had survived his "death" and found a way to be happy again. I'll survive his rejection too.

"If you and Michael are not together," Dad presses me further, "then how did this happen?"

"The usual way, Rogelio. She and Michael had sex," Mom provides dryly before I can stammer an explanation. Abuela chokes in dismay at the statement but Mom doesn't acknowledge her reaction. She looks back at me for confirmation. "That happened almost six weeks ago, right?"

"Right," I confirm around the lump of bile that rises in my throat, "Before his brother's funeral." This is so not the time to throw up, however. I'm waiting with baited breath for Abuela to respond, mentally preparing myself for her stinging reprimand but she says nothing. I glance over at her in expectation, making a gesture for her to speak her mind. "Go on," I urge when she remains silent, "Let me have it. Tell me how disappointed you are."

"No estoy decepcionado. Estoy triste," Abuela says, "Puedo ver que esto te está causando dolor. Pero eres un adulto, Jane. Tienes que tomar tus propias decisiones porque eres el que tiene que vivir con las consecuencias."

"That's it?" I burst out, "That's all you're going to say? I tell you I'm about to become an unwed mother _again_ and you're shrugging it away?"

"Es tu vida."

Not knowing whether I should be distressed or relieved by her reaction, I throw a desperate glance over at Mom. "What about you? What do you think?"

"I think you wouldn't be telling us unless you'd already decided to keep the baby," she replies softly, "And, if that's the case, when are you going to tell Michael?"

Ever since I told Mom the full story of what happened to Michael she's relaxed her adamant stance that I should keep my distance from him. I think, like me, she had been hoping fervently that there was a reason for Michael's erratic behavior the day of his brother's funeral. When she finally had one, she was relieved and more than willing to forgive him. It was as if she had been granted permission to love him again and, since then, she has been much less reticent when his name is mentioned.

I suppose that's the reason she finally decided to reveal to me that she had hidden a letter that Michael had sent to me in the early weeks of our estrangement. She had intercepted it one day while checking the mail and decided to keep it from me. At first, I was infuriated because all I could think about was the many missed opportunities I had to make things right with him. I was especially angry when I was able to finally read his heartbroken account of what he had been through when the pain was still fresh, before bitterness and anger had turned him cold and apathetic.

And so, I lashed out. I wrongly held my mother responsible for Michael's rejection and placed all of the "if onlys" squarely on her shoulders. _If only_ I had read the letter and learned the truth sooner, _if only_ she hadn't been so presumptuous and hidden from me in the first place. _If only_ I had been able to comfort Michael when he needed me most…maybe he and I would be together right now. And she had taken that blame too, perhaps because she felt guilty for encouraging me to cut Michael off in the first place or maybe because she'd kept the letter to herself.

But, ultimately, I came to realize it wasn't her fault. It was mine. I had to come to grips with that truth. What happened between me and Michael rests firmly on _my_ shoulders. Because even if she had been given me the letter, there was still a good chance I might not have read it or I would have read it too late. Michael and I might very still be in the exact same place because my own stubborn resolve. Eventually, I told Mom that and apologized to her.

I was glad to have finally made peace with her but my relationship with Michael, or lack thereof, remains as wrecked as ever. He practically ordered me out of his life the other day and he hasn't made a single overture to take it back. I'm not really sure that knowing about the baby will change his feelings one bit. Although, my father certainly seems to think otherwise.

"If you're in need of volunteers, Jane, I will be happy to share the blessed news with Michael!" Dad volunteers excitedly, "Please, allow me to do it. I can hardly wait to witness his explosion of pure joy with my own eyes."

"Rogelio!" Mom admonishes him in her usual way, "It's not up to you. It's up to Jane. She has to decide what she wants to do."

Three pairs of eyes simultaneously swing towards me in silent anticipation. But it's Mom who asks me directly, "So what _are_ you going to do?"

The question actually catches me off guard. Beyond deciding to go through with the pregnancy I really haven't given much thought to the future. My last interaction with Michael didn't go quite the way I had anticipated. I had expected him to be angry but I had never imagined how angry he would be. I hadn't expected that he would want to sever all ties with me. It wasn't even what he said really, although the words had impacted me like a kick in the chest, but it was how he looked when he said them. Michael had meant every word. He was really done.

The finality of it all hasn't completely settled on me yet. How can it when I'm still in love with him, when I'm expecting his child? I can't quite conceive my life without him yet…not again, not this soon but he is clearly ready to move on from me. _I just want to try to move on. I need to know what my life looks like without you._ His words flitter through my mind presently, a brutal reminder of where his headspace is. He wants a life without me in it. I haven't caught up yet.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Ma," I sigh wearily, dropping despondently into the nearest chair and sprawling there. "I don't even know if I should tell Michael about the baby after… Well, you know what happened."

She certainly did. They all did. I tearfully told them my sad tale that same night Michael and I talked after I returned home later that evening sobbing and defeated. They knew that Michael had rejected me, had made it painfully clear that he never wanted to see me again. Thankfully, no one had dared to tell me afterwards that it had been for the best. In fact, both Mom and Abuela had expressed regret for encouraging me to keep my distance from Michael in the first place and apologized for their part in our rift. Of course, it was too late to rectify the damage and their remorse is only a small consolation in this whole, convoluted mess.

"Maybe he's better off not knowing," I mumble to myself.

And though I hadn't meant it for anyone's ears, my father responds as if I had addressed him directly. "No!" he cries out in vehement protest, "You cannot seriously be considering keeping your pregnancy a secret from Michael!"

"He never wants to see me again, Dad," I remind him tersely, "That comes straight from _his_ mouth. The last thing he wants is to have a baby with me. I'd be sparing him if I raised this baby on my own."

"It is not sparing him," Dad replies, "It is a lie and you shouldn't do it. Michael wants children."

I perk up in spite of my resolve to remain neutral and unaffected. "How do you know that?" I ask more anxiously than I intend, "Is that what he told you?"

"Well…not in so many words," Dad replies hesitantly.

And, like that, my hope dims just as quickly as it flared. "So that means no. He didn't tell you he wanted kids so I'm right back at square one."

"Además, ¿cómo planeas mantener esto en secreto?" Abuela asks dubiously, "¡Eventualmente su condición será muy obvia!"

"You're not going to tell him the baby is Rafael's, are you?" Mom follows up anxiously, "Because I would like to go on record to say that is a very bad idea."

"Estoy de acuerdo," Abuela says.

"Me too," Dad chimes in, "How could you even consider something so duplicitous?"

"Okay, first of all, I'm not passing this baby off as Rafael's," I interject quickly before their wild speculations can escalate, "This isn't the _Passions of Santos_. Besides that, what makes you think that Rafael would even agree to something like that? Are you insane?" I barrel forward in my argument without giving them any real opportunity to answer that. "And, second of all, how could you ever think I would do such a thing? Give me a break!"

"It wasn't a judgment, Jane," Mom rushes to reassure me, "But people tend to make bad decisions when they're panicking."

"I'm not panicking. I've been a single mother before. Remember?"

"But Michael-,"

"Michael is trying to move on with his life. I refuse to tie him down with a kid he doesn't want."

Dad regards me with a sympathetic look. "How do you know he doesn't want it if you have not asked him?"

"Cuando te ve con un bebé, ¿no crees que va a hacer preguntas?" Abuela asks.

"That's not going to happen," I reply glumly, "because I'm never going to see him again."

I expect some commiseration and comfort following that wrenching declaration but what I get instead is laughter. Chortles of laughter. Yelping, gasping laughter and I am not amused. I don't know whether to be offended by their careless disregard of my feelings or angry that they would dare to trivialize them. I swing towards the latter of the two.

"And what exactly is so funny about Michael casting me out of his life forever?" I demand tartly.

"Porque él no te echó de su vida," Abuela replies complete with air quotes, "Esto es simplemente el capítulo 100 en esta novela en curso."

I squint at her incredulously. "Excuse me?"

"You two are going to get back together," Mom replies with a dismissive wave, "I knew that as soon as you told me what happened to him these last five years. You'll find your way back to each other. You always do."

"But it will happen faster if you tell him about the baby," Dad interjects unhelpfully, "So you should do that. Soon. Like right now." He holds his phone aloft, prepared to dial Michael as soon as I give him the go ahead…which I am not going to do.

Instead, I throw up my hands with an exasperated grunt. "Haven't you listened to a word I've said?" I emphasize in my most strident tone, "It is _really_ over this time. Michael is done. Dad, you know this already! You were the one who told me what he said in the first place!"

"And I also must reiterate that I did not believe him," Dad counters, "I still do not believe him."

"Well, I talked to him myself and _I_ believe him. He means it."

Dad crosses his arms in stubborn denial. "I am not convinced. I suspect he's merely being petulant at this time. He will come around."

"Aren't you the one who warned me to stay away, who told me that he needed space?" I remind him shrilly, "You didn't even want me to see him so what's with the sudden about face?"

"That doesn't matter now that there is a baby," he reasons, "You should be with him. It's what you want. It's what he wants. The solution is simple."

"Dad, 'the solution' is not simple," I retort in an unflattering impression of him, "How many times do I have to say it? Michael hates me now."

Mom chooses that moment to insert her two cents. "Isn't hate the flip side of love?" she asks as if that concept is somehow helpful to our current discussion.

I stare at her in flummoxed silence. "No, Mom. _Apathy_ is the flip side of love. Hate is just hate."

Abuela tries to reassure me then. "No creo que él te odie, mi amor."

"Well, he sure acted like he did the other night…"

I really don't want to rehash it anymore. We've been having the same, circular argument for the past twenty minutes and I still haven't found a solution I feel I can live with. All I really want to do right now is hide. Or, better yet, I'd like to sit in my room for the remainder of the night and stew in my own misery, maybe even listen to one of Michael's old playlists while sobbing into my pillow but, I can't. Rafael is due to arrive with Mateo at any moment. I need to prepare myself mentally for the inevitable conversation that I must have with him. Now that my family is aware of my pregnancy, he is the next person I need to tell and I need to figure out what I'm going to say.

Reluctant to do it but resolved at the same time, I scoot from the chair and stand upright. "Well, that's it for now, you guys. I just wanted to give you a heads up about what's going on with me before Rafael arrived."

"Are you going to tell him about the baby?" Mom asks when I start to head off towards the bathroom for a shower.

"I have to. He's going to find out eventually and I'd rather he hear the news directly from me."

Dad grimaces at me in disappointment and disgust. "You're going to tell Rafael about the baby but you won't tell Michael?" he demands in an affronted gasp, "But that's not fair, Jane!"

"Dad, we've already discussed this."

"He is the father! He deserves to know!"

"I know that, Dad!" I flare suddenly, "I know that! I just need a minute to breathe, okay! I need to figure out what I'm going to do next! Can you get off my back about it?"

The instant the words come flying out of my mouth, I wish devoutly that I could yank them back. I watch in sorrowful regret as Dad gradually closes himself off from me and his expression becomes distant and remote. "You're not going to tell him, are you?" he determines in a disillusioned tone, "I really expected better of you, Jane."

I'm not sure if his anger and disappointment sparked due to his loyalty to Michael or if he's relating my situation to his and my mother's. I suspect it is a combination of the two when he says, "I lost 23 years with you, my firstborn child. I never had the opportunity to watch you grow and change into the woman you've become. I did not have the chance to mold you in my image. You were robbed of that unmatched privilege, as was I.

"And though I have forgiven Xiomara for her choice, those scars remain and they are deep. The pain lingers because I am always aware of everything I have missed. Please, do not do that same terrible thing to Michael."

I'm reluctant to reject his earnest plea because I know it comes from a place of sincere, loyal love for Michael and for me but, in the end, that is exactly what I do. "I have to do what I think is right, Dad."

It breaks my heart to see his hopeful optimism fade from his eyes. "Then I suppose you've learned nothing from your mother's mistakes."

I call after him helplessly when he walks out of the house but he doesn't acknowledge my pleas for him to stay. I look back to my mother in a feeble bid for support. It's ironic that she should be the rock of our family right now when she is the one fighting for her life but I honestly think I would drown in my own sorrow were it not for her. "Mom, please talk to him," I entreat thickly, "I don't want him to hate me too. I can't deal with that on top of everything else."

"I'll fix it," she assures me as she starts after my father, "Don't worry."

Once she is gone, I glance over at Abuela who has been, heretofore, silent. She regards me with an impassive expression so I can't tell what she's thinking and that unnerves me because I'm pretty sure I won't like what's going on in her head. Rather than waiting for her to address it, I decide to take the offensive for a change. "You think I'm making a mistake too, don't you?"

"Creo que deberías hacer lo mejor para ti."

"I don't even know what that is, Abuela!"

"¿Qué deseas?"

"What I've always wanted…Michael! I want Michael. I love him."

"Entonces no se comprometa cuando se trata de sus sentimientos hacia él," she tells me firmly, "y toma lo que viene después! Nunca te rindas en lo que te hace feliz!"

"But it's so hard and it hurts so much," I weep, "He doesn't even want to see me and we made a baby together. What if he never forgives me, Abuela? I thought it was hard when he was gone but this feels worse!"

"¡Y qué!" she snaps harshly, so harshly that I snap to attention, my tears momentarily forgotten. "Eres como tu madre. Al primer signo de dificultad, te retiras. Bueno, ¡no más! Si amas a Michael, entonces ámalo, Jane, y toma lo malo con lo bueno."

I am still mulling over Abuela's wise words that loving Michael means accepting the bad with the good when Rafael arrives with Mateo. My son zips past me into the house with little more than a cursory hello before making a beeline for the back of the house. He's already out of sight before I can even greet him. I turn to Rafael for an explanation.

"He really has to pee," he says wryly, "I tried to talk him into stopping earlier but he was adamant that he could hold it. That's _your_ son." I chuckle in response as he steps past me and into the house. "Hey, what's going on with your dad?" he asks after I shut the door.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he and Xo are sitting outside on the porch swing talking but when I was coming up the walk, I said 'hi' to him and he completely ignored me. It was strange."

I hope my face doesn't give away how uneasy I feel right then. "Well, you know my dad," I evade with a forced laugh, "He's always a little strange."

My hope that will be the end of it is futile because Rafael doesn't let it go. In fact, he ponders the incident even more. "It felt like more than that. Is he angry with me about something? Honestly, he's been acting 'off' towards me for a while now."

"Has he?" I ask with deceptive nonchalance.

"Do you think he's pissed at me about the restraining order against Michael?" Rafael wonders aloud, "I wouldn't be surprised. He has such a misplaced loyalty towards the guy. I don't understand it."

Not wanting to get into an in depth discussion on the many reasons my father maintains unswerving loyalty for my ex-husband, I decide to simply tell the truth. "It's not you, Raf. Dad isn't angry with you. I'm the one on his list."

"Why? What did you do? Send the wrong emoji text?" When I don't smile at his gentle teasing, he sobers immediately and asks, "Jane, what's wrong? Are you okay? You look tired."

"I _am_ tired. It's been a long few months."

"Yeah, I know. But we've finally turned a corner, I think." Once again, my expression must reflect the dejected pessimism I feel inwardly because he says, "But obviously you don't."

I spend several seconds in an unproductive search for a response to that before I finally invite him to sit down. "I have something important to discuss with you."

He does as I request but his face becomes taut with alarm. "Is something wrong?" he presses me anxiously, "Should I get Mateo?" I know that he's concerned that our son might overhear something too sensitive for his ears and I'm quick to reassure him.

"Don't worry. Abuela will keep him occupied."

"So Alba knows what you want to talk to me about?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he replies slowly before leaning forward to give me his full attention, "I'm listening. Tell me what's going on."

I almost don't want to. Rafael and I have been getting along relatively well in the past week. That could be because neither of us has mentioned Michael once in all that time. It couldn't have become more obvious what a sore spot of contention Michael had been for us until he had been removed from the equation. We've shared the easy comradery that marked the days of our early friendship, the one that really blossomed and developed after he was released from prison. That's practically a streak for us these days. I hate to be the one to break it but, unlike Rafael, I can't pretend Michael doesn't exist.

"Raf, I want you to drop the assault charges against Michael!" I blurt out before I completely lose my nerve.

Rafael blinks at me as if I've just spoken to him in some incomprehensible language. "You want me to what?"

"He's been through enough," I maintain firmly despite the trembling in my knees, "Don't make it worse for him, please. Drop the charges."

"You're joking. Why would I drop the charges, Jane? He's guilty! Did you forget that we have a restraining order against him? And for good reason too!"

"He's not dangerous, Raf. And while we're on the subject of that restraining order, I want to get rid of that too. It's unnecessary."

"What are you talking about?" he hisses in mounting disbelief, "You don't think he's dangerous? Then why did I spend two days in the hospital after what he did to me, Jane?"

"That wasn't Michael! It was Rose," I retort without thinking, "You were right all along. She did mess around with his head. She wanted him to go after you. That was her whole plan."

The anger glittering in his eyes is abruptly replaced with wary suspicion. "How do you know that?"

Rather than answering him, I continue to justify the request I've made of him. "Michael is in therapy and he's working through his issues so you don't need a restraining order."

Rafael has little patience for my efforts to validate Michael. " _How do you know that, Jane?_ "

"I went to see him last week."

The resounding silence that follows is excruciating. Figuratively, I feel as if I'm perched on a precipice just waiting for him to explode and send me sailing over the edge. But he doesn't react right away. His anger gathers quietly in a slow, tenuous build. Endless seconds tick by and he doesn't utter a single word. I can't help but a panic a little and the dread I feel actually leaves me nauseated.

Finally, when I think I'm about to go crazy waiting for him to respond, he asks, "So what did Michael say? I'm assuming he can remember the details of what happened to him now."

"He does," I confirm softly, "He remembers everything, Raf."

I watch as he struggles to absorb that news and all the implications that come with it. "Well…tell me what he said."

"He confirmed everything we already suspected," I recount, "Rose kidnapped him and faked his death. She held him prisoner for almost five years and she did it to get back at you and him. The plan was to hold him captive until you and I reconciled."

"Why?"

"She wanted us to be happy…and then she wanted to ruin it."

"I knew it! I knew this was a setup from the start! She released Michael right when she knew it would cause the most damage to our relationship," Rafael concludes quietly, "It was deliberate. Don't you see what she's done, Jane? This is exactly what she wanted! She wanted to drive us apart! She wanted to destroy our family! That's why she did this!"

"I know."

"She tried to tear down everything we built together and we _let_ her do it." He suddenly moves from the couch and approaches swiftly to sweep my hands up with his in a fevered grip. He presses several fervent kisses across my fingers and knuckles. "Now that we know that was her plan, we can do everything in our power to make sure she doesn't succeed.

"I still love you, Jane. I still want to marry you. Please. Don't let Rose succeed in coming between us. Let's be together just like we planned."

The reserved uncertainty I feel must be evident in my expression long before I tentatively tug my hands from his grasp, because he falls back a step and the hope that brightened his eyes begins to dim as he recognizes the reason for my recalcitrance. "But that's not what you want anymore, is it?"

I shake my head regretfully and apologize to him but I can't say any more than that. I'm unable to give voice to the reasons that my feelings for him won't change, will never change because I know saying them aloud will only twist the knife deeper into his heart. I don't want to hurt him anymore than I already have, especially when I know there is more hurting to come. But my attempt to spare him can only go so far, not when Rafael is determined to force the words out of me. Even if they hurt him.

"So that's it then. I guess this means you're choosing him after all," he mutters, his eyes gleaming with tears, "That's the real reason you want me to drop the charges against him, isn't it? You're going back to him, aren't you?"

"I want you to drop the charges because it's the right thing to do. Michael has been through hell these past five years and I don't want him to suffer anymore. Rose has taken enough from him, from all of us really. Let's stop fighting each other."

"I don't give a damn what Michael's been through, Jane! He tried to kill me! Have you forgotten that?"

"Do you care about what _I've_ been through?" I counter hotly, "Because if you're doing this to hurt him, Raf, it's going to hurt me too! You'll break my heart! Is that what you want?"

"I don't appreciate your using my feelings for you to try and manipulate me."

I almost point out to him that he often does the same thing to me but I hold my tongue, mostly because I know that I'm the one asking for favors right now and that requires a bit of humility on my part. "I'm not trying to manipulate you," I reply mildly, "I'm trying to appeal to your sense of compassion."

"Are you sure you're not doing this because you want to make it easier for yourself to ride off into the sunset with Michael?"

"That's not why I'm asking. This isn't about wanting to be with Michael. He wants to move on. I want him to have a clean slate. That's all. He deserves that much, don't you think?"

"What about what _I_ deserve, hmm? Why do I have to be the one making noble sacrifices?"

"I can't force you to drop the charges, Raf," I tell him, "But I'm _asking_ you to do it, as my friend."

"That's not fair. After everything Michael has taken from me, that's not a fair expectation at all, Jane."

"Maybe it's not. But is sending him to jail really going to give you any satisfaction, especially when you know that Rose is the reason he attacked you like that?"

"I don't know that for sure," he argues, "What I _do_ know is that Michael has had it in for me from day one and he would have likely come after me even without Rose's influence."

I scowl at him in mounting frustration. "Raf, you know that's not true! I've been telling you this whole time that there was something off with him that day. Now you know for sure. If you still press charges after that, you're being petty and spiteful because you want to punish him and me."

"I should have known you'd be back on his side the second his memory came back," Rafael mutters bitterly, "This is what I've been dreading the entire time!"

"What about all the times I've been on _your_ side?" I retort, "What about the allowances I've made for _you_ , Raf? My father was right about you! You were the one who started the fight that day. What would you have done if Michael hadn't gotten the upper hand? Maybe you should take a little responsibility!"

He looks at me as if I am a stranger and he has no desire to know me at all. "Who are you? I don't even recognize you anymore!"

"I'm the mother of your son and the woman you claim to love," I tell him, "I'm done apologizing to you for having a life and a love before you. Michael was my world. You knew that before you fell in love with me and I've never kept it a secret!"

"That doesn't mean I liked being second to him!"

"You weren't second to me!" I cry, "You were _different_. You were what I needed when I was going through one of the worst times in my life! I don't know where I would be without you. I'll never forget what we shared. Despite everything, you're still my best friend."

"But it's not enough for you to stay with me, is it? Because after you're done making your pretty speech, the end result is the same. We're over and Rose wins."

"What do you want me to say, Raf?"

"I want you to tell me why this is happening! I don't understand it. We were in love. We were going to be a family, you, me and Mateo. I can't understand how all of that changed for you so fast…"

"I know this isn't what you want to hear," I murmur sympathetically, "I can give you all the time you need to adjust."

"All the time in the world won't make me adjust to seeing you with him!" he hisses, "And if you think I'm going to let him be around my son after what he did…"

"Raf, don't go there! Please!"

"You have to choose, Jane! Who's more important to you? Mateo or Michael? Because you can't have them both!"

"No! Don't say that to me! I can't choose! I won't!"

"Really? You're actually _torn_ about this right now? The answer is _Mateo_ , Jane. You should choose Mateo! He's your child, for God's sake! How the hell do you not get that?"

"Because he's not the only child I have to think about now!"

I don't plan to announce my pregnancy this way, with no planning or forethought but in a simple expulsion of emotion. Yet, when I do, I don't regret it. I make no attempt to call back the words. I own my decision and prepare myself for the fallout. I'm determined to do exactly as my grandmother advised me. I'm ready to take the bad with the good. And so, after taking a deep breath and stiffening my spine, I tell him the truth.

"Raf…I'm pregnant."


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five (Michael POV)**

"You're back."

I don't acknowledge the derisive undertone in Lorena's observation as she approaches me but instead shift to my feet respectfully and issue her a cordial "hello." She must be surprised by my geniality because she falters a step. And then, further to _my_ surprise this time, her icy façade drops away, leaving an expression of soft uncertainty beneath as she returns my greeting. It's a cautious start to our visit but a promising one at least.

"Why are you here, Michael?" she asks me after sliding into her chair. I follow her lead and sit as well. "I didn't think I'd see you again after the last time."

"Me either," I murmur, "But then I heard that you had agreed to testify against Sin Rostro and…"

"And?" she prompts when I fall silent.

"I wanted to thank you in person," I whisper sincerely, "I know what it must cost you to agree to that."

"Working for her has cost me much more," she replies and I get the impression that she is talking about much more than her freedom.

"Why are you doing it? Why put yourself at risk?"

"You lost more than a year of your life because I've been too afraid to stand up to her," Lorena murmurs, "I can't change what happened before I came into the picture but after that… I…I want to make that up to you somehow."

I glance down at the weathered surface of the table, my jaw tight. "You can't. That time that I lost is gone forever. I have to move forward now."

"This isn't what I wanted."

"No, you wanted to cover your ass. You wanted me to never find out that you were helping Sin Rostro."

"It wasn't like that!" But she drops her eyes even as she makes the denial so I know I'm not too far off the mark with the accusation.

I challenge her further. "Wasn't it? You had opportunity after opportunity to tell me the truth, Lorie. We talked every day. I came to see you and not one word."

"I thought about it," she chokes, "I thought about it every day."

"You know what they say about good intentions. And the bottom line is, you aided and abetted the people who kidnapped me. For all I know, you were in on it too."

"I didn't have anything to do with your kidnapping," she informs me avidly, "That happened way before I ever knew you existed! I need you to know that wasn't me. You had been with Tim and Ralph more than three years by the time I came along."

"And you never knew about me before that?"

"No! And even after I started coming regularly to take care of you, I didn't learn your full story until I was six months into the job! I didn't even know what happened to your brother until _you_ called and told me! Her only order was that I get you to trust me. That was it."

"And you succeeded."

"Yeah but I also fell in love with you and that wasn't part of the plan."

"Poor Lorena. A henchman with a heart." I punctuate that statement with a round of mock applause. "Please drop this poor, put upon act you're pulling. You chose this! You had all the answers and you kept them from me."

"I was trying to protect my brother and you. Don't you think that Sin Rostro had someone watching our every move? She would have killed me. And then what would have happened to you? Who would have taken care of you? Maybe she would have killed you too."

"I don't buy it, Lorena," I scoff a little scornfully, "This whole time you've been telling me how important it was to Sin Rostro that I stay alive. You weren't worried about me! You were worried about yourself. You kept feeding me lies on her orders and you sent me back here on her orders too. Just cop to that." She doesn't reply to that or, thankfully, attempt to make any more excuses for herself. "So what really did happen before my amnesia?" I ask, feeling rather detached, "Since I know now that you didn't find me lifeless in a ditch."

"I found you lifeless in your cell instead," she explains flatly, "We had no choice but to transport you to the hospital because I couldn't help you on my own. When Sin Rostro learned what happened, she was livid and we all knew that she would kill us if you died."

"So you flipped on Tim and Ralph to save your own skin," I surmise softly.

"To save yours too, Michael," she insists, "I got you out of that cage, didn't I?"

"If that's what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night."

"Maybe my motives weren't the best but you were able to come home because of what I did."

"Yeah, to kill Rafael Solano and spend the rest of my natural life behind bars for murder!"

"I knew you weren't going to kill him." I snort in disbelief at that baseless avowal but Lorena persists in arguing her point. "Why do you think you were in such lousy shape? They spent more than four years trying to twist your head around about that man and fill you with hate but you never broke."

"Obviously I did or what went down with him the day of my brother's funeral would not have happened."

Her eyes skitter away in guilty acknowledgment. "That was a surprise. I wasn't expecting that."

I grunt at her response. "Really? I was thinking you probably had a trigger word that set me off that day."

She stares at me aghast and, for a moment, she appears genuinely hurt that I would believe that. "No, Michael! Is that really what you think of me now?"

"To be honest, I don't think much of you at all but, that's not the point. I want the truth."

"The truth?" she echoes tightly, "Okay. The truth is, I honestly thought I had everything under control. I was going to tell you the truth. When everything with you and Jane fell apart and you came back to me, I was going to tell you everything."

"Please tell me you weren't actually _that_ delusional…" I groan.

"You asked for the truth and I gave it to you! I was waiting for the right time."

"Well, evidently the right time never came and now we can't ever go back."

"But it all worked out the end," she says with a note of bitterness, "I'm behind bars and you got the girl."

The tacit mention of Jane instantly shuts down whatever remaining desire I had to give her the benefit of the doubt because I suspect she does it on purpose to disarm me. She knows that by saying it she's stirred up every insecurity I have regarding Jane's relationship with Rafael. While I've done a fine job lately of not thinking about her the past few weeks, every so often there are times, like now for instance, when the longing I have for her hits me like a punch in the face.

I remember the last time I had felt _this_ vulnerable about Jane. The despair had actually compelled me to purchase her book off the supermarket shelf. That had been in the early days following the restraining order. She wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even see me and I had been at my most desperate. When I spotted the title and her name emblazoned in white lettering above the stereotypical portrait of a romantic hero and heroine, I knew I was going to buy it even as I berated myself for being pathetic.

So, I read the book. I suppose I needed a reminder that Jane did at one time, indeed, love me in spite of her having placed her loyalty to Rafael above her feelings for me. I needed the reassurance that she had chosen me once before at least. After all, the book was a tribute to our relationship, a testimony to the love we shared. I had wanted to see that time through her eyes.

And I had. The good and the bad and the parts I wish I could forget. I saw our relationship from her perspective…but I also saw her relationship with Rafael as well. I experienced firsthand knowledge of all the reasons she had been drawn to him back then, about how caught up she had become in the lust and forbidden appeal of their time together. He was exciting and daring in a way she hadn't known before. And while it was clear to me that Jane's heroine Josephine had genuinely loved my hero Martin, it was also painfully obvious that Martin had failed to provide something vitally necessary for Josephine, something that had compelled her to be drawn to Rafael's book alter ego Rake in the first place.

Inevitably then, I found myself wondering about just how much life had imitated art. Had I failed to answer some deep-seeded need within Jane? Was that the reason she had turned to Rafael the first time all those years ago? Had she found me mundane in comparison to him, lacking in some way? Was that, and not the frantic lengths I had gone to in order to keep her, the real reason she'd left me back then?

Perhaps, there was some truth to that and I might have been able to make my peace with it…maybe…if it also wasn't absolutely clear that Rafael answered some other need in Jane as well. She had even thanked him in her dedication for believing in her as a writer and for making her brave. And that's when I really understood. Rafael Solano had always been so much more than a fling to her and I imagined that was the reason he would always be a sticking point for me.

And that's the reason Lorena was able to get to me with her last barb. I'm sure that pain I carry with me daily is evident in my eyes. And even though I still remember Jane's devastation during our last confrontation and I know very well that I broke her heart that day, and mine in the process, I'm not going to let my feelings for her overwhelm me ever again. I will never give her that kind of power over me or any woman for that matter.

I made that vow to myself weeks ago and I'm sure as hell not going to break it or break down in front of the likes of Lorena Diaz after all of that. So, if she's waiting for me to crumble, she's going to have a long wait. I tell her so.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised to hear you say that," she murmurs, "You are, hands down, the most stubborn man I have ever met. It's actually one of the things I like most about you, Michael."

"I didn't come here to talk about Jane with you or what you like about me for that matter," I intone coldly, "I want to be sure that you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Sounds like a convenient excuse to me. I don't think you would be here at all if you and Jane were together," she whispers with a knowing expression, "I always knew she didn't deserve you but you had to figure that out for yourself. That's why I pushed you to come back."

"You pushed me to come back because it was what Sin Rostro wanted you to do and you were her hired flunky," I retort, "And did you really think that we would have a chance in hell after what you did to me?"

"Obviously you feel something or you wouldn't be here."

"Yes," I agree softly, "I feel pity. I'm sorry that your choices put you in here. And I wanted to make sure that you're testifying against Sin Rostro for the right reasons because it's _literally_ your life on the line. If you're doing this because you think there might be a chance for us in the end then you're making a mistake. I don't want to be with you, Lorena, but that doesn't mean I want you dead either."

I'm not sure if I feel better or worse after my conversation with Lorena but I do feel as if I've at least achieved some closure. I can finally turn the page on that chapter from my life and close the book. I don't owe Lorena a single minute more of my time, compassion or understanding from this point forward. While I'm not entirely free of the pain her betrayal caused me, I think I can now put it behind me. I actually feel as if thrown off some metaphorical anchor of anger, self-doubt and fear and I can stand upright again. I can breathe again. I can finally figure out who I _really_ am now, the me I've become after five years of forced stasis. With that optimistic prospect before me, I say goodbye to Lorena for the very last time.

After being checked out by the guard upon my exit and having my belongings returned to me, I wind my way through the police station. I'm nearly on my way out the doors when I hear my name being called. When I pivot I find the Miami PD's newest police captain, Mario Ortega, hustling his way towards me. As soon as I see him, I have to suppress an impatient groan. The forty-five year old career detective hasn't been on the job long, having only recently assumed his new duties after Captain Armstrong recently retired. But his short interim as the department's newest head hasn't stopped him from setting his sights on me, especially when he learned my history as a detective and my connection to Sin Rostro.

He's already picked up where the Captain Armstrong left off and offered me a job. Though I initially refused, because the offer had come a mere two days after Lorena was arrested, I'd suspected even then that Mario Ortega could be quite tenacious when he wanted something. Watching him now, barreling towards me like a runaway locomotive, I'm sure of it now.

"Hey, Cordero, let me talk to you for a second!" I stand by good-naturedly and allow him to catch up with me. He claps me on the shoulder with a jovial smile when he reaches me. "I saw you across the station and I just had to say hello. How have you been?"

"Maintaining. You know, same old same old."

"Are you looking for a change of pace?"

I promptly know where he's headed with that question and I shake my head. "I'm not interested in coming back, Captain Ortega. I appreciate the offer but…I'm not ready. I told you that the last time you asked me."

"But that was weeks ago and a lot has changed since then," he argues, "Like your girl deciding to turn state's evidence against Sin Rostro."

"She's not my girl. And, I wouldn't place all my hopes on Lorena Diaz if I were you. She likes to look out for number one."

"Well, maybe we wouldn't have to do that if you agreed to come back and help us. I know that you have a personal stake in all of this as well as a professional one."

I compress my lips in a humorless smirk. "Cheap shot. I'm sure you have plenty of other officers that are capable."

"None of them know the Sin Rostro case like you."

"Be that as it may," I reply, refusing to be pulled in by his attempt at flattery, "I'm not interested."

"So you'd really rather sit at home in your tightie whities on your mommy's sofa, watching soap operas and eating cereal from a mixing bowl?"

"Not really what I'm doing with my time but yeah, I'm good."

"Don't bullshit me, Cordero. I know you miss it. I can see that restless look in your eyes," he cajoled, "Give me one good reason why you won't come back."

"I can give you two," I counter dryly, "One, I'm pretty sure I'm not mentally fit for active duty and two, I have an assault charge pending. Both of those things would cancel out entrusting me with a firearm. I really don't see how that makes me desirable or of what use I could possibly be to you."

"I've read your files. You're a good cop, Cordero, even if you don't always color inside the lines," Ortega says, "If I'm willing to give you a shot even with all your baggage, what's your hold up?"

As I walk out to my car, I find myself obsessing over the answer to that question. What _is_ my hold up? Ortega was right after all. I still have the lust for detective work coursing through my veins. I miss the field, the high energy stakes, the rush of catching the bad guys. But I also can't deny that I am still grappling with a crapload of demons and while I'm ready for a fresh start I'm not so sure I'm ready to be a cop again. I still don't trust myself and that is my biggest hang up. In the field of police work, being able to go with your gut is a must and I haven't made it there yet. I'm not sure if I ever will again.

That's the biggest reason that I continue to keep my distance from Mateo even though I miss that quirky little kid like crazy. It's not my strained relationship with Jane that keeps me away. It's not that ridiculous restraining order. It's not even the animosity between me and Rafael. The truth is, I'm afraid to get close to him again. I don't want to risk endangering Mateo after I lost control with Rafael. But, at the same time, I feel ashamed for staying away from him. Every time I think about how he must feel about my sudden disappearance from his life, I get sick with guilt.

I remember all too well how I felt and what I thought when my dad briefly deserted Billy and me after the divorce. We didn't see or hear from him for almost six months and, by the time he had reopened the lines of communication, Billy and I were already riddled with resentment for him. It was another two years before I began treating him with anything resembling respect again. It hasn't nearly been six months but it has been long enough for Mateo to become confused and hurt.

And I'm not saying that's how he feels about me. I'm not presuming that I'm one of the primary people in his life but I'm also not naïve enough to think me not being around anymore, and with no real warning at that, won't affect him. He might not have the level of attachment to me that he has to his parents but he _is_ attached. What if he feels abandoned? My biggest fear is that he will blame himself for my absence.

As traffic on the highway slows to a crawl and my car comes to a virtual standstill, I really think about what is the best thing to do. I can leave things as they are and ignore the possible damage I'm doing to Mateo's self-esteem or I can suck it up and call him. The least I can do is explain to him why I'm not around and reassure him that it's not his fault. He deserves to have closure just the same way I did with Lorena.

My intentions are good. Unfortunately, I haven't even thought through my plan of action before I'm grabbing my cell phone from the passenger's seat and dialing Jane's number. My actions don't really sink in until the phone rings and then I hold my breath in anticipation. Several rings ensue and I'm just about the hang up because I'm sure it's about to go to voicemail when she finally answers with an inquisitive "hello."

"Hey," I say, mostly because hearing her voice again after a week of self-imposed silence is jarring for me. I white knuckle the steering wheel in a bid to keep myself calm. "Can we talk for a sec?" I ask when I regain my power of speech.

"Michael?"

She sounds incredulous and I can understand why. Only a week ago I told her I never wanted to see her again and now I'm calling her on the phone as if my last words to her hadn't essentially been, "Stay out of my life!" It's a mixed message and I feel the need to explain myself. "You…you're probably wondering why I called. I…I know it seems like I'm contradicting myself right now but-,"

"—No, it's okay," she interrupts before I can finish, "I'm glad you called. I want to talk too. In fact, there's something I need to tell you."

I don't want to mislead her about the reason for my request so I'm quick to clarify. "I didn't call to talk about us, Jane. I've been thinking about Mateo lately," I tell her, "I kind of dropped out of his life without warning and I wanted to make sure that he was okay."

"You didn't 'drop' out of his life, Michael," she reassures me softly, "I pushed you out."

"He's your kid. You can decide who you do and don't want around him."

"Still, that wasn't fair to you. I know that you care about him."

"I do, but that's not the point. It doesn't matter why I'm not around anymore. The point is, I'm not around. I just don't want him to think that's his fault or that he did something wrong." As I'm imagining all the self-blame Mateo could be experiencing another, more heart-wrenching thought, occurs to me. "Does…does Mateo know what happened with me and Rafael?"

Honestly, this is the first time I've considered the possibility that Jane and Rafael might have told him the truth about that day. After all, Rafael had been in the hospital for several days and he had very likely looked like hell for several weeks afterward. I know _I_ did. Mateo is an intuitive little kid and I'm sure they would have had to tell him something a little more substantial than, "Daddy walked into a door."

"So does he know?" I press further, "Does he hate me now?"

"He doesn't know. We told him that Raf got into a car accident," she says, "Although he was really curious about how we got the car fixed so fast."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Of course, he was. Your son is no idiot."

"No, he is not."

"I'm surprised that Rafael agreed to that," I say without thinking, "I was sure he'd be all too eager to paint me as a douchebag to Mateo."

"He wanted to tell him," Jane admits, "But, in the end, I made the argument that there was no point in disillusioning Mateo completely since you were already out of our lives. Plus, I don't think he wanted Mateo to be scared, so…"

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm grateful. Sorry I put you in a position where you had to lie to him at all," I mumble in a mournful tone, "I really hate that."

"Well, the truth wouldn't have been any easier," she murmurs, "And we didn't have all the facts then so I'm glad we didn't tell him."

"I'm still sorry you had to lie."

"Stop apologizing, Michael. I think maybe some lies are necessary evils because the truth can cause more damage."

"Since when?" I challenge, "You never used to feel that way. You hate lies, Jane."

"A lot has changed in five years."

"I don't know about that," I sigh, "I feel like none of this would be happening if I hadn't been so susceptible to Rose's mind games in the first place. I can't believe I let her get inside my head."

"You were beaten and tortured," Jane points out stiffly, as if that alone should absolve me of my actions.

"I should have been stronger. What happened at Billy's funeral would have never gone down if I had been stronger."

"Don't you dare take responsibility for Rose's crimes! You had no control over what happened."

"Maybe not. But there are some things I _can_ control," I counter, "I should have made more of an effort to keep in touch with Mateo."

"It's okay. He understands."

I'm skeptical of that reassurance. "Does he really?"

"Well…" she hedges, "…he has been asking about you a lot lately. He thought that you went back to Texas and he was upset because it seemed like you had left without saying goodbye. And then when he found out you weren't gone, he's been upset because you haven't come by to see him."

"Excellent," I grumble unhappily.

"I told him that you've been busy with your family but that you would stop by to see him soon."

"Wow, you're just racking up the lies with him, aren't you?"

"I wasn't wrong, was I?" she counters softly, "You said Mateo was the reason you called."

"You're not wrong. I miss him. I want to see him but, the way everything is right now, he can't know that and that puts me in an awkward position. I don't want to get Rafael riled up but I also don't want Mateo to feel about me the way I felt about my dad after he left my mom."

"You don't have to feel obligated to see him, Michael."

 _He's not your son._ She doesn't actually say the words but the unspoken implication is there. As far as Jane is concerned, I'm in the clear. She fully believes her son is expendable to me. If I vanish completely from Mateo's life she's not going to hold it against me at all. But _I_ will hold it against me. It doesn't matter that there's no blood tie between me and Mateo. I love him. In my heart, he's my son and I feel responsible for him, which is exactly what I tell Jane.

"Like I said before, I miss him, Jane. I want to be in his life but that's your call."

 _And Rafael's_ , I add silently, which pretty much determines I don't have a snowball's chance in Hell of ever seeing Mateo again. And, if Jane's stunned silence is any clue, she's not over the moon about my proposal either. I can practically hear the wheels in her head turning as she works out exactly how an arrangement like the one I'm suggesting will work. I doubt she's too excited by the prospect of accommodating my request.

"Ugh…just forget I asked." I flex my fingers around the steering wheel, growing impatient as traffic inches forward. I don't know if I'm irritated because I'm stuck on the highway or because "I'm stuck" in my need and desire for Jane Villanueva and her son. "I overstepped. Sorry. I shouldn't have called."

"Michael, don't be that way. You took me by surprise. That's all. The last time we spoke you were pretty adamant about never wanting to see me again." I'm still adamant about it but I keep that crunchy nugget to myself for now. "I think it's a good idea," she says, leaving me a little stunned by her response, "I know he misses you too."

"Yet, I'm sensing a 'but' from you…"

" _But_ , what about us? You said you didn't want to see me again. How is that going to work with Mateo because he and I are a packaged deal. Not the mention the fact that we have to consider Rafael in all of this. He'd never go for it."

"I'm not asking to spend time with him," I explain, "That would be a little tricky with the restraining order in place. Plus, you're right. Rafael would never go for it and we'd be setting Mateo up for something he can't have."

"So what are you suggesting?" she asks softly.

"I was thinking that maybe I could talk to him on the phone a couple times a week, maybe even FaceTime if you're cool with that. I just want him in my life, Jane."

"And that's it? That's all you want?"

I'm pretty sure there is a veiled meaning to her question but I deliberately ignore it. "I'm hardly in the position to make demands so I will take what I can get," I tell her, "But if we do it like I'm suggesting then we can minimize contact between us."

"What if I don't want to minimize contact?"

If she knew the intense yearning those eight, simple words stirred up in me, she would never give up. And honestly, I wouldn't want her to and that would only lead us both down the same dead-end path that was best not revisited. As it is, I have to close my eyes and take a second to compose myself before I can even _try_ to speak again.

"Jane, please stop. I asked you not to do this. Remember?"

"Right. Never mind. Forget I said anything. I'll get Mateo for you since that's the only reason you called anyway."

She lets that statement hang for a second, as if she's waiting for me to contradict it and then, when I don't, she sighs and asks me to hold on while she calls for Mateo. I listen to the muffled sounds of the Villanueva household as I wait. The faint screech of the cat. The muffled hum of the air conditioner. The muted sound of closing doors. A few minutes later Jane returns to the phone.

"He doesn't want to talk to you," she announces.

I slump forward in disappointment. "He doesn't?"

"He says he's mad at you because you forgot all about him."

It's then that I realize that Mateo isn't rejecting conversation with me so much as he's using his mother to serve as a go between because he's too angry to talk to me directly right now. I have to bite back my relieved smile. "Tell him that I did not forget about him," I reply, "and that I thought about him every single day." Jane recites exactly what I said and I can hear Mateo's response but I can't make out his words.

"He says if you didn't forget about him then why didn't you call?" Jane relays.

"Tell him that I didn't call because I was feeling sad and I needed to be by myself for a while."

I wait for Jane to convey his next message to me but I'm surprised when Mateo responds himself. "Why were you sad?" he asks.

"Because I finally remembered everything but I didn't know where I belonged anymore and that made me feel alone."

"I know where you belong, Michael."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh-huh. You belong with me because we're bests friends."

"That's right. We are, buddy."

"And I'm only a little bit mad at you now because you weren't talking to me. Mommy says that best friends forgive each other so I'm going to forgive you."

"Thanks, Mateo. I'm glad. I'm glad that you forgive me."

"Did you know that my daddy got into a car accident?"

It takes me a moment to adjust myself to his dizzying swivel. "Yeah, your mom mentioned that to me."

"His face was swollen and his eyes were swollen and he had to wear a neck brace for a long, long time. That's why they're not getting married right now. Daddy says he needs time to recrup…recret…"

"Recuperate?" I provide when he continues to struggle.

"Yeah, that! So, I still have to wait. I hate waiting." And then, once again, without warning he pivots again. "Are you coming to see me tomorrow?"

"Unfortunately, Mateo, I can't come tomorrow," I reply regretfully, "I've got a lot of stuff going on right now so I can't get to see you the way I'd like."

"But why?"

"Well, right now I'm trying to find a job."

"Why do grownups have to work all the time?" he grumps.

"Because they like to eat. What can I say? Being a grownup sucks sometimes." He giggles into my ear and, for the first time since I dialed Jane's number, I relax completely. "I'd like to call again tomorrow and maybe we can talk then. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's okay," he says, "I'm going to give the phone back to Mommy now because I was watching tv when you called. Talk to you later, Michael. Bye!"

"See, Michael?" Jane murmurs into the phone a minute later, "You didn't break him after all, not that I ever thought you had. I'm learning that Mateo is a very resilient kid."

"Thank you for letting me talk to him."

"No problem." Silence thickens between us in the ensuing seconds. "Listen, Michael, I don't want this to be awkward."

"Too bad. It's going to be," I reply wryly, "This is like going through a divorce, kind of…we just have to navigate our way through the weirdness."

"Is that how you feel now? Like we're divorced?"

"Well, we were married once and now we're not. That's pretty much divorce, Jane."

"No, divorce is when you stop wanting your marriage," she counters in a quiet tone, "I haven't stopped wanting our marriage, Michael."

I haven't stopped wanting it either but I don't dare tell her that.


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six (Jane POV)**

"What is going on with you right now?" Mom demands stridently as soon as I drag myself through the door after a long day at work.

I'm startled to see her because when I wasn't expecting to until later tonight. "Mom, what are you doing here?"

As I step further into the house, set aside my purse and kick off my shoes, I can't help but notice the abnormal silence. I vaguely notice the large, open cardboard box near the front door but I don't pay it very much attention because I'm too puzzled by the quiet. I'm also hyper aware of the fact that Mateo hasn't yet greeted me with a running tackle. I regard Mom with a questioning grimace.

"Where's Abuela and Mr. Sweetface?"

"Mom took Mateo for an ice cream because I asked if she could get him out of the house for a little while so we could talk."

"Why?" I ask warily, my mind immediately veering to a dozen worst case scenarios, "Did something happen today? I thought you had chemo this afternoon. Why didn't you go? I thought Dad supposed to take you! Are you sick?"

"Calm down. My counts were too low. They had to delay treatment for a week."

When Mom began chemotherapy, the nurses had diligently explained to us the importance of her having her lab values checked weekly. There were certain parameters she had to meet regarding her white blood cell and platelet counts in order to receive treatment and, if she didn't meet those parameters, if the numbers weren't high enough she didn't get chemo. It was supposed to be a protection so they didn't strip her body completely of its defenses. Still, no patient wanted that to happen because it always meant the final treatment would be moved farther away. It also meant that the patient was highly susceptible to infection due to their weakened immune system.

I sweep Mom with a penetrating look. "Shouldn't you be in isolation and wearing a mask right now?"

"Shouldn't you tell me why the UPS man delivered a package from Michael to Mateo today?" she counters in aggravation right after.

Her question induces my heavy sigh of resignation. I had known that this moment was coming. It was only a matter of time before news of Michael and Mateo's renewed interactions would start to filter down through the family. Truthfully, I'm surprised I managed to keep it a secret for this long. Discretion was hardly Mateo's forte. After all, he's a talkative, inquisitive six year old boy. Even though it's barely been eight days since Michael and Mateo resumed communication, Mateo has been fairly bursting with the need to tell someone all about his "best friend" Michael.

In the hopes of avoiding confusion and difficult to answer questions as well as the news eventually getting back around to Rafael, I had encouraged Mateo to keep quiet about his and Michael's friendship. At the time, I had told him that Papa might become jealous if he were to find out that he had become Michael's new best friend. And, at first, that had satisfied him. But after a full week of almost nightly chats, and lively, impromptu bedtime stories via FaceTime where Michael wouldn't just read the story dialogue but assume the persona of the character, Mateo was growing increasingly dissatisfied with merely talking to Michael by phone. He wanted to see Michael in person. And I know the feeling must be mutual, especially if Michael is mailing Mateo presents already.

I stoop to inspect the empty box near the door and flip back one of the torn flaps to read the sender information. It is indeed from Michael and addressed directly to Mateo. I can't help but smile over the sweet gesture. "Aww…he sent him a present," I murmur wistfully.

"Yeah, he sent him a present," Mom reiterates, "A kid sized tent and a fishing rod. I thought Mateo's head was going to explode with excitement."

I turn my face up to her, goofy smile still plastered all over it. "Really?"

"There was a card too." She turns away to retrieve it from the side table and then passes the envelope to me. "Don't be mad. I read it already." I make a face at her and then pull the card free of its sleeve to quickly read Michael's short note.

 _Got a lot of birthdays and Christmases to make up for. Hope you don't mind._

 _-Michael_

I'm so touched by his thoughtfulness that the only thing I can do is press the card to my bosom and try very hard not to cry. He really _does_ love Mateo. I don't know why that surprises me but it does a little bit. I've never doubted that Michael cared for Mateo and wanted to protect him but I was never really sure if he had developed that deep, unbreakable, parental love for him. Maybe because my deepest fear has always been that Michael might secretly resent Mateo because his existence had literally changed the course of our entire relationship. I'm relieved beyond belief to finally put that fear to rest.

"Jane, what's going on?" Mom asks, abruptly pulling me from my warm haven of feels, "Why is Michael sending Mateo presents all of a sudden? Are you two getting back together? I can't believe you kept me in the dark!"

"Will you calm down? Michael and I aren't getting back together," I sigh as I shift to my feet and the finality of that fact hits me anew, "He wants to have a relationship with Mateo. That's all."

Mom frowns. "Really?" After I confirm her question with a nod, she presses further. "And you're okay with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay with that?" I ask defensively, "Michael is a good man and he loves Mateo!"

"I'm not saying he isn't a good man, Jane! I'm saying that it might complicate things by having him around…you know with the secret baby you're carrying," she reminds me, nodding meaningfully towards my mid-section, "Are you going to tell him?"

"I haven't actually decided yet."

"What do you mean you haven't decided?" Mom explodes incredulously, "You're letting him spend time with Mateo, Jane! What are you going to do? Crouch behind furniture for your entire pregnancy? Eventually your ever expanding belly is going to give it away! Is that how you want him to find out?"

"He's not actually spending physical time with Mateo because…um…well…" I stammer in between clearing my throat, "…there is a restraining order still in place. They're just talking on the phone right now."

"You mean you haven't had the restraining order lifted yet?" she screeches in disbelief.

"I can't! I'm not the one who filed the complaint! Rafael is! And when I asked him to lift it, he basically told me to go to hell."

"Oh God," Mom groans, "I hadn't even thought about Rafael. This is so bad."

She doesn't know the half of it. Rafael hasn't spoken to me in over ten days. Our last conversation was actually the day I dropped the bombshell that I'm having Michael's baby. To say that he had been livid following the news would be a severe understatement and I didn't entirely blame him for being angry. For that reason, I could forgive him for dodging me in the days that followed because I understood how the news might have blindsided him. But, while he's been intent on ignoring me, he has also been ignoring our son and that is much harder to accept. I'm afraid Mateo might develop a complex if the men in his life keep dropping in and out of it this way.

That has actually factored into my uncertainty over whether to tell Michael about the pregnancy. Right now, he is solely focused on Mateo, which I love but his attentive devotion also frustrates me. He hasn't made a single romantic overture towards me at all or given even the smallest indication that he's interested in rekindling our relationship. If I had to guess, I'd think he's already fallen out of love with me. I feel like if I tell him about the baby then he will feel shackled to me and he'll run and I don't want that. I don't want to give him a reason to bolt because Mateo has been through enough.

"What are you going to do?" Mom presses.

"Well, Rafael certainly isn't going to be a problem since he's decided he's over being a father!"

"Jane, give him a break. You just told him that you're pregnant with another man's kid. He's allowed to be thrown."

"It's not like I cheated on him! We haven't been together for months! He doesn't own me!"

"But he _is_ in love with you," Mom points out softly, "You had to know that the news was going to gut him, especially because he'd have to come to terms with the fact you slept with Michael in the first place."

Mom has no idea just how correct she is in her assumption. The sex _had_ been the biggest sticking point for Rafael. It was true that he'd wrestled with the pregnancy as well but the fact that I slept with Michael, especially after weeks of me refusing to have sex with him when we were together because I was "too confused" had made it worse. It infuriated him that I hadn't seemed to have the same reservations about Michael that I'd had about him. He felt betrayed and had accused me of stringing him along. He'd hurled quite a few unflattering terms my way that day. Cruel accusations were made on both sides and, in the end, he had stalked from the house and I hadn't seen or heard from him since.

When I make that point to Mom, she says, "Like I said, he's having a hard time. You know very well how much he adores Mateo. He's a good dad. He'll get it together."

"I understand that he's having a difficult time," I tell Mom, "I can handle his anger and resentment but _Mateo_ doesn't deserve it. It's not his fault."

"I'm sure Rafael knows that," she reasons, "He loves that boy, Jane, so if you're trying to replace him with Michael, I think-,"

"—Mom, no! I wouldn't do that!" I exclaim vehemently before she can complete the thought, "Rafael is Mateo's father. I would never try to replace him! But Michael loves Mateo too. He just wants to be in his life."

"Jane, if you feel that strongly then I have I ask…don't you think Michael would feel the exact same way about his own child?"

The question stirs up a bundle of repressed guilt and has me scrambling to defend myself. "I thought you said you'd support whatever I decided! Have you changed your mind about that? Are you going to disown me like Dad now?"

"Rogelio hasn't disowned you, Jane," she scoffs lightly with an eye roll, "Stop being so dramatic!"

"He won't even be in the same room with me, Mom! He's totally shut me out."

"That's because he's disappointed and he's hurt because he's taking your decision not to tell Michael about the baby personally. He can't help but put himself in Michael's shoes right now."

All defensive anger drains from me then, leaving me vulnerable and defeated. "I'm scared, Mom. What if he doesn't want it? Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Of course he's going to want it, Jane," she insists in a gentle tone, "because it's a part of him and a part of you."

"It's not simple anymore," I argue, "If this had happened five years ago, I'd have no doubts at all. But after everything we've been through since then, there's too much baggage between us. Michael doesn't think I'll ever completely let go of Rafael so he's not willing to risk his heart on me again. I wouldn't be surprised if he asked me to have an abortion."

"He won't do that, Jane." But her denial sounds weak to me and I call her on it.

"He could. He did when I was pregnant with Mateo…because he didn't want to deal with it."

"But this time is different! It's _his_ baby!"

"That doesn't matter. Michael has made it very clear to me that he wants minimal contact between us. Even when he calls Mateo, we barely talk. I don't even know what's going on with him right now! I had to find out secondhand from my _six year old son_ that he was back on the Force! He never said a word to me. He still hasn't."

Mom doesn't miss a beat and has a solution for that at the ready. "So then you co-parent," she suggests carelessly, "Kind of like you're doing now."

It doesn't dawn on me until Mom says it aloud that Michael and I _are_ co-parenting. It's not in the traditional sense by any means but we have both certainly put our aside our differences for Mateo's sake. And although I don't like how stagnant our relationship has become or the fact that we've devolved into virtual strangers in the meantime, I'm grateful that he wants to be a part of Mateo's life.

"I don't understand the difference," Mom grumbles in confusion, "You're either in his life because of Mateo or you're in his life because of the new baby. It's the same thing either way!"

"The difference is that with Mateo, he has the option to walk away," I tell her, "Michael doesn't have any _real_ obligation to Mateo because he isn't his son. But this baby is his and he'll feel responsible for it, which will force him into close proximity with me and that's the last thing he wants."

"You don't think he feels responsible for Mateo too?" she reasons softly, "You spent ten minutes waxing on about how much Michael loves him. Do you honestly think he'll walk away from that little boy…ever?" I don't have a ready response to her question and I'm pretty sure she knew that I wouldn't. "Tell him about the baby, Jane. I think his reaction might surprise you."

I've mentioned before that I hate it when she makes sense and this time is no exception. But I'm not really ready to contemplate that prospect at all so I change the subject altogether. "What do you think I should do about Rafael?" I ask her, "Should I call him? Make an overture for peace? Continue to give him space while he sulks? What?"

"Can you do any of that without berating him?"

"Does he deserve _not_ to be berated?" I counter pointedly.

"He deserves to have you consider his point of view in this, Jane." Mom volleys back with equal bite.

"I'm so sick of hearing that!" I snap in a sudden loss of patience, "I _do_ consider Rafael's point of view. That's why I gave Michael the cold shoulder for _an entire month_ and what did that get me! Rafael's still pissed and Michael won't even talk to me! I'm tired of putting everything I want through a Rafael filter! I just want to live my life, Ma!"

"Well, suck it up," Mom replies without a modicum of sympathy, "Because that's what you do for family and, like it or not, Rafael is _your_ family. So fix it."

I'm still grumbling over her edict that _I_ should somehow take responsibility for the standoff with Rafael while we prepare dinner together (although what I mostly do is steal bits of food while she cooks). We bicker back and forth about it until she finally kicks me out of the kitchen for "being too bitchy." Following my banishment, I try to keep myself busy reviewing work projects while I wait for Abuela and Mateo to come back from their ice cream run. Mom and I are in the middle of setting the table for dinner when Abuela and Mateo finally make it home. However, the greeting I have planned turns into shocked silence when Rafael trails in behind them. But my inability to speak only lasts a second before I stiffen in outrage at the sight of him.

"What's going on?" I ask when I finally recover my voice, bestowing a distracted hug to Mateo when he runs to greet me. I look over at Mom for answers. "You didn't tell me Rafael was getting ice cream too," I say with a note of light accusation in my tone.

"No fue planeado," Abuela explains, "Llamó mientras estábamos fuera y le dije que podía unirse a nosotros."

"Alba was good enough to let me tag along on their sundae run," Rafael adds quietly, "I was really missing Mateo so I appreciated her willingness to sacrifice her one on one time with him."

I notice that he has a difficult time meeting my eyes as he says that, however. I'm sure shame makes that impossible. _Good_.

He moves forward to ruffle Mateo's hair. "We had fun today, didn't we, bud? _Bisa_ didn't even mind that we were ruining our dinner."

"Shh, Daddy," Mateo says with a telling look in my direction, "It's supposed to be a secret." He blinks up at me in owlish innocence. "I only had a little ice cream, Mommy. I promise."

Jane regard him skeptically before turning a narrowed glare back as his father. "I'll bet you two did have fun," I remark tartly, "Rafael, it's so nice that you were finally able to carve out some time from your busy schedule to see your child."

Mateo completely misses the scowl Rafael directs at me when he pipes in happily, "I'm glad Daddy could come. I was really missing him too! I wish he didn't have to work so much. You too, Mommy. I like it when you're home with me."

I bend forward to drop a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. "Yeah, well the truth is…we work hard so we can buy you lots and lots of presents and I know how much you like getting presents, Mr. Sweetface."

"It's true. I like presents. But I can't wait for us to live together then I'll never have to miss you and Daddy at all!"

His cheerful exclamation provokes an exchange of tense glances between us four adults but no one dares to disabuse him of his notion. Instead, I plant an affectionate kiss to the crown of his head and send him off to the bathroom to get cleaned up for dinner. When he's out of earshot everyone in the room turns their concerned stares towards me.

Mom is the first to break the painful silence. "Okay, this has gone on long enough. Someone needs to tell him."

"Tell him what, Xo?" Rafael asks, "That his mother doesn't want us to be family after all or that she's having Michael's baby?"

"Okay," Abuela says as she reaches over to snag hold of Mom, "Tal vez deberíamos hacernos escasos mientras ustedes dos hacen esto. Mantendremos Mateo ocupado."

After they scramble from the room to give us privacy, I don't address Rafael right away because I'm too furious to speak. Instead, I begin compulsively checking to make sure all of the stove burners are off because I need a moment to calm myself before addressing him. When that's done, I start scrubbing bits of food from the surface as well. I can feel Rafael watching me the entire time and when I hear his exasperated sigh my aggravation with him increases.

"Say something, damn it!"

I throw down the towel and whip around to face him. "You have some nerve showing up here after ten days of silence with a chip on your shoulder," I bite out, "Where the hell have you been?"

"Work. I've been working, every day and every night. I had to finalize some last minute details with the hotel."

"And you couldn't call to tell me that? You couldn't call your son?"

"If I came to see Mateo then I would have had to see you and I wasn't ready for that, not after our last conversation. But…I was wrong to disappear on him like that and it will never happen again."

"I know that angry with me, Raf, but you can't take that out on Mateo! It's not fair to him.

"You're right and I'm sorry," he acknowledges softly, "I wasn't planning to stay gone this long. But after you told me you were pregnant I just needed some time to clear my head."

"I was trying to be honest with you, Raf. I didn't want you to find out secondhand."

"Be that as it may…it was a little much to find out that you'd slept with Michael that night you went to Fort Myers, especially when you kept telling me over and over that you and he were just friends. When I thought about that night and how you blew me off, left me and then went to him, I…" He pauses for a moment, as if he recognizes that he's about to go stumbling down that same angry road again. "I was hurt," he says finally, his tone calm and even, "and I was jealous and I said some hateful things to you that I wish I could take back."

It's difficult to maintain eye contact with him after that. "So did I."

"I just…I hate that you slept with him that night. I really do."

"I didn't plan for it to happen."

"Why didn't you tell me back then?" he fires back sharply, "I could have at least stopped making a fool out of myself thinking that there was an actual chance for us!"

"I never lied to you about my feelings! You knew from day one that I still loved Michael!"

"I can't argue with that. I _did_ know how you felt about him and I made a conscious choice to ignore that because I thought that eventually you'd realize you loved me more. Clearly, I was in denial," he says, surprising me with his concession. "Don't look so shocked. I am capable of self-reflection, you know."

I feel much of my resentment towards him seep out of me with his gentle teasing and even find myself smiling a little. "I know that."

"That doesn't mean I've stopped being angry with you, Jane," he prefaces in warning, "I haven't. You broke my heart and it's going to take me a long time to get over you but… You're still my best friend. You're my family and I want you in my life. I don't want to fight with you, especially now when you're pregnant. That's enough right now."

Hot tears burn the back of my throat as I whisper in reply, "I don't want to fight with you either."

"And since Michael is who you want, I'll try and find a way to accept that too," he says, "I don't really have a choice anymore, do I? Our kids are going to be siblings after all, so I guess in some roundabout way that will make us family too." He looks so galled by the prospect that I might have laughed if I didn't know how miserable he was about everything.

As it is, tears well up in my eyes at his reply when I imagine how he must feel at that moment. I can't keep from closing the distance between us to hug him tightly. "Thank you so much." I think for a moment that he won't return my embrace and I start to make my peace with that just as I feel his arms band around me. I actually heave a sigh of relief and hug him even harder. He relaxes against me ever so slightly.

"I'm so, so sorry, Raf," I sniffle into his shoulder, "I never wanted to hurt you."

He presses a quick kiss to my temple before shrugging away from me and ducking his head, I suspect, to hide his own tears. "I believe that. I really do. And, on some level, I always feared that this would happen. It felt inevitable from the very beginning. As soon as Rose told me the truth, that Michael was alive, I knew I was going to lose you."

"But you still brought him back here anyway."

"Because I knew how much he meant to you. I couldn't let you go on thinking that he was dead."

"Thank you," I say again but the words are a rather insignificant expression of just how extremely grateful I truly am for what he's done, "I'll never be able to put into words how much it meant to me and that's saying a lot because words are my thing."

"Yeah, I know," he murmurs, his words bittersweet.

He brought Michael back to me. He made it possible for the yawning void in my heart, which formed there soon after Michael's "death," to be filled again. For the first time ever, I fully realize what it cost him to bring Michael back to Miami and I'm saddened for him. He sacrificed his own happiness to guarantee my own. I recognize how unbelievably lucky I've been to be loved so completely by, not just one, but _two_ incredible men in my short lifetime.

"I wish there was something I could say or do to make this easier for you."

"Don't worry about me. We need to focus on Mateo. It's time we sat him down and explained to him that we're not going to be together…so he can be prepared when you and Michael get married. I don't want him to be blindsided."

"Yeah, about that whole marriage thing…" I hedge, "Michael and I aren't getting married, Raf."

"Don't worry. If he hasn't proposed to you yet then I'm sure he will soon."

"No. What I mean is…" My explanation dwindles off into nothing because I have no idea what I should say next. I am currently faced with the daunting task of explaining to my ex-fiancé that my ex-husband and I will not be getting remarried even though I'm pregnant with his baby and will be, instead, co-parenting my aforementioned ex-fiancé's son. It's a lot to cover.

"Maybe you should sit down while I explain."

"I already know that Michael bought Mateo a tent and a fishing pole, Jane," he sighs. I glance over at him sharply and I'm sure shock must be stamped all over my face because Rafael clarifies, "It was all Mateo could talk about while we were getting ice cream. Apparently, Michael tells the _best_ bedtime stories."

"You're pissed," I surmise flatly.

"No, I'm not," he replies with a firm shake of his head, "I told you I didn't want to fight so we're not going to discuss it because _then_ I'll be pissed."

"So…what should we discuss?" I ask him in a careful tone.

"Tell me why Michael is suddenly a part of our son's life again. I thought he was done."

Immediately, rather than answering him directly, I blurt out explanations and apologies. "I wasn't trying to go behind your back, Raf. Michael…he asked me if he could be a part of Mateo's life. He really cares about our son. I couldn't tell him no but I didn't know how you'd react after so…"

"Calm down. It's fine. You were right. The fight was as much my fault as it was Michael's. We both were out of control that day."

My entire body sags with relief. "I appreciate you saying that. I know this isn't easy for you."

"Michael and I can't keep being at each other's throats. It's not good for us or you or Mateo. It's not good for that baby you're carrying either."

"I just don't want you to worry about Mateo's safety. You have to know that Michael would never hurt him, Raf. He loves him so much."

"You don't have to convince me, Jane, because in the end it doesn't matter what reservations I have. You're in a relationship with him. You're having his baby. He's going to be a part of Mateo's life whether I like it or not."

"Yes, Michael will be a part of Mateo's life," I agree, "But not because he and I are together…because we're not together and we're not going to be."

Rafael's impassive mask slips completely. "What are you talking about?"

"Michael and I are over. He's not in love with me anymore."

"Since when did that happen?" he asks in a mildly dubious tone.

"Since I ignored him for an entire month while he was going through the worst time of his life," I reply flippantly. When Rafael winces, I'm quick to reassure him. "I'm not blaming you. I'm stating the facts. That's all. You don't have to feel guilty or whatever. I've made my peace with it."

Yet again, he appears unconvinced by my claim. "Really? You've made peace with it?"

"Fine," I amend, biting back my telling smile, "I am _trying_ to make peace with it. He wants his space and I am respecting his wishes. We are being very mature about it."

"Uh-huh." His tone is unconvinced.

"I mean it," I insist a little stridently, "It's fine. We're fine. And you know what? I like being on my own for a change. I don't need a man to define me."

"Yes. You are woman. Hear you roar," Raf interjects dryly.

I make a face at him. "Now you're mocking me."

"I'm not mocking you. I have a hard time believing this is really what you want," he says, "And, quite frankly, after the hell you put me through for this guy, it would really piss me off if that was true."

The forceful reminder of the heartbreak my personal happiness has caused him is enough to compel me to drop the pretense altogether. "This is what he wants, Raf. He wants me to back off, so I have. His main priority is Mateo. Nothing else matters. He doesn't even want to be friends. It is what it is."

He frowns at me in disbelief. "What about the baby?"

"Michael doesn't know about the baby," I confess softly.

"But you're going to tell him soon, of course?"

"That is still to be determined. It's complicated."

Rafael regards me speculatively, as if he doesn't know quite what to make of my response. "You _do_ know that you have to tell him, right, Jane?"

"I've tried to tell him. More than once. But every time I attempt to say the words, they get stuck and I can't make them come," I confess miserably, "Or…or he says something to remind me that he doesn't want anything to do with me. How am I supposed to tell him that I'm pregnant after that?"

"You say the words. I'm pregnant."

I wave away his simple solution to my dilemma with a weary shake of my head. "You don't understand."

"Yes, I do. You don't want him to feel obligated to you. You're afraid that he won't want the baby. You're afraid he won't want _you_ after you tell him."

"So what if I am?" I challenge him fiercely, "I get to be scared sometimes, Raf! I get to run and hide because after everything that's happened in the last six months, I deserve a minute to regroup! I don't have to be brave all the time! _No one_ is brave all the time!"

"So what?" he scoffs, "Are you the only one in this scenario who gets to avoid rejection? You're the only one who doesn't get to have their heart trampled on? Get over yourself, Jane."

"Excuse me?"

"Stop being selfish! Think about the kid you're carrying. Hell, think about Michael! I'm hardly the guy's biggest fan but…he deserves to know his own child."

"I…I know…" I stammer anxiously, "And I'm working on it. I'm working myself up to do it…soon. I'll tell him soon."

"How soon? What are you going to do when you start to show? Or worse yet, when you tell Mateo and he blabs to Michael, because you know he will!"

I choke back a teary, ironic laugh because my next words are far outside the realm of my natural tendency to plan down to the most minute detail. "I don't know, Raf. I guess I'll figure that part out when it happens."


	28. Chapter 27

**A/N: Dear readers, please do not read this next part in a public space. Also, probably not going to be around later this evening so I thought I would post this now. We'll resume tomorrow night. That is all.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven (Michael POV)**

When I catch sight of Rafael Solano striding into the police station like he owns the place it takes everything I have inside of me to suppress my loud, aggravated groan. I have no idea why he's there but his timing is terrible. I've been back on the job less than a week and the last thing I need is to have another confrontation with him. Hoping to keep a low profile, I scoot down lower in my desk chair, to make myself as inconspicuous as possible while he carries on whatever business he's come to do. Unfortunately, it quickly becomes apparent as he makes a beeline straight for me that _I_ am the business.

This time I'm unsuccessful at holding back my groan of consternation. He's not even within ten feet of my desk before I stand and sigh, "Dude, you _do_ realize that you're violating your own restraining order right now? I can't be within 20 feet of you, remember?"

"Forget the damn restraining order. We need to talk," he pronounces in that imperial way that always irritates the hell out of me, "Can we go someplace?"

"Hell no. If you want to talk we can do it right here…surrounded by witnesses."

There are several of my fellow police officers milling around the area. It's a typical day at the station, with officers constantly filing in and out. Though no one does anything in particular to acknowledge Rafael's presence, I know that they are keeping a watchful eye on him. By now, everyone knows the personal beef we have against one another and they are on high alert for any trouble that might arise. Given the circumstances, I'm comforted by that knowledge.

Rafael, however, doesn't share my same concerns. He scoffs at my reply. "I'm not here to trap you into anything, Michael. I just want to clear the air between us. That's all."

"I'm pretty sure we've said all we need to say to each other."

"You think so?"

"Is this about Mateo?" I demand flatly, "Because I'm assuming Jane finally told you we've been talking."

"Yes. I'm aware of that," he replies in a tone that is anything but pleased.

Though it galls me a little, I try to reassure him, mostly because I think I owe him that. After all, I _did_ put him in the hospital. "If you're worried about me being around Mateo after our fight, I want to put your mind at ease," I tell him sincerely, "Regardless of how I feel about you, I would never hurt your son, Rafael. I love Mateo and I want to watch him grow up."

"I'm not here about Mateo. I came to talk to you about Jane."

As soon as he mentions her name I want to shut the conversation down. Through some rather considerable effort on my part I've managed to maintain a distant relationship with Jane. But it's been extremely difficult. I still love her. I think about her every day. I dream about her at night. And when I can't sleep, I lie awake wanting her.

And I've been able to ignore all of that, push it aside because I know that eventually she'll go back to Rafael. So now that's he's here, all smug and superior, I can only imagine that he's come to tell me that he and Jane are back together and to lay down some ground rules for me. I'd honestly rather be tasered in the forehead than hear it. I might have been expecting the gut punch this whole time but that doesn't mean I'm prepared to receive it. Still, I make a show of bravado and give the appearance of shrugging him off.

"So does that mean congratulations are in order?" I ask, resuming my seat. In order to maintain my façade of indifference, I rearrange the mountain of suspect files on my desk, trying hard to pretend that what is left of my heart isn't crumbling to dust.

"Congratulations?"

I glance up to find Rafael scowling at me in confusion. "Yeah. I'm assuming you came here today to tell me that you and Jane are a couple again. So, congratulations."

"Thanks, but you can keep your congratulations because that's not why I'm here," he contradicts me in a dry tone, "Jane is still in love with you actually."

The declaration takes me off guard and, for a minute, I'm unable to formulate a response to him. It's not that I'm unaware of Jane's feelings for me but Rafael's completely Zen attitude about it is throwing me off a little bit. I can't tell if he feels challenged by the fact Jane loves me or if he's made his peace with it. I force myself not to obsess over which one it could be.

Finally, after collected myself, I drop my eyes and resume rearranging the stacks of folders before me. "Love has never been the problem with me and Jane," I tell him, "That's always been _you_."

"I could say the same thing, you know."

"Well, the way I remember it, Jane and I were engaged before you came in like a wrecking ball and demolished everything that ever mattered to me!"

"And what do you know, Michael, you came back and returned the favor."

I know I have to concede his point there and that aggravates me so much that I glare at him. "What do you want, Rafael? Just tell me and then get the hell out of here."

"At the risk of sounding redundant, I'm here to talk about Jane." He nods in indication of the full station and the possible eavesdropping ears that surround us. "Maybe you'd like to have this conversation in private," he suggests.

"Nope. Just say what you have to say and leave," I declare in feigned disinterest.

"Fine. Have it your way. Jane is pregnant."

I startle so violently at that news that I actually send my desk stapler flying across the room. It narrowly misses clipping some poor, unsuspecting fool in the head before clattering loudly to the floor. Half a dozen eyes swing over in our direction to investigate the ruckus but I barely acknowledge the penetrating looks because I'm so stunned. I don't even take a breath. I am sure that every drop of color has drained from my face. And the only thing I can process in that moment, the only thing I can hear is: _Jane is pregnant. Jane is pregnant. Jane is pregnant._

I'm convinced that Rafael Solano can't possibly shock me anymore than he already has until he adds drolly, "It's yours, by the way."

Still reeling, I blink and cock my head towards him as if I hadn't quite heard him. "I'm sorry. What was that again?"

"You heard me the first time. You're going to be a dad, Michael. So you might want to get over all this self-pitying angst you've been wallowing in and crawl out of that dark hole because Jane needs you."

I wilt back into my chair, my body trembling all over. "Holy shit…h-holy shit…" At first, I have a hard time processing a word he's said. It takes me several seconds to digest the news, to make sense of the statement at all but, once I do, I start thinking about the situation analytically, like a cop. And, inevitably, I find my shock tempered by skepticism. "Wait. How do you know this?"

"Jane told me."

It's difficult not to scoff at the reply. The claim is so ludicrous that I have to laugh a little. "Jane told you that I got her pregnant?"

"Yeah, she did. And, for the record, that kind of sucked for me so you can wipe that stupid smirk off of your face."

I barely acknowledge the insult because I'm too busy calculating mental math, counting back to the first and only time Jane and I have had sex since I came back. Two months ago, the night I found out my brother was dead. "Wait, wait, wait. If Jane is pregnant that means she's got to be like 8 weeks along."

"Yeah. And?"

"And I've _seen_ her since then. I've spoken to her more than once. She's never said a single word."

"She wasn't going to tell you," Rafael says, "She thinks you don't love her anymore, that you're done with her. But we both know that's not true." He surveys me with a look so penetrating I almost wonder if he can see right through me. His next words prove that he can. "You're still in love with her."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because she's pregnant and she's scared and she needs you, Michael. So, do something about that…or I will."

I hate to admit that, for me, the idea of Rafael raising my possible child is a powerful motivator towards action but it really is. It's probably not the greatest thing that I'm likely going to leave work early with very little explanation to my superior officer when I've only been employed for four days but there is no way I can stay at the station after Rafael's claim. Every attempt I make to concentrate on work proves to be futile because, inevitably, my thoughts wander right back to Jane.

I'm so anxious that I can't even sit still. I have to see her. My mind is buzzing with so many things all at once that I can't even think. Questions of why and how and the stunned realization that she actually _lied_ to me and why is on a never-ending loop in my brain. And, strangely enough, I don't feel angry. I'm confused instead. Under different circumstances, I might have been prompt to dismiss Rafael's claims because I'm so reluctant to trust him but I realize in hindsight that there have been clues all this time and I missed every one of them.

Mateo's casual reports that his mommy had a "stomach flu," Rogelio's cryptic texts urging me to call Jane or asking me constantly if I've spoken to her, the exhaustion I hear in her voice every time I call for Mateo. All of that coupled with the knowledge that we had used zero protection the night we had sex leads to the most obvious conclusion. Jane really _is_ pregnant.

The only thing I can't figure out is why she didn't tell me. Is it possible she doesn't want to keep the baby? Had she ever had any intention of telling me at all? And, if she was planning to through with the pregnancy, what was she going to tell me when it became obvious? The questions just keep coming and it wasn't like Rafael was very forthcoming with the details.

After dropping his bombshell, he'd left me with little more than a, "You need to talk to Jane," and then walked out. Typical Hurricane Rafael, blow in, create a horrible mess, and then blow away. And so, after telling my captain that I had to leave due to a "family emergency, I am now I'm on my way to Alba Villanueva's home to confront Jane, breaking the speed limit along the way in my state issued vehicle.

I make it from the from the police station to the Villanueva home in 12 minutes even with medium traffic but I barely remember the drive. By the time I make it, my palms are sweating profusely, my heart feels as if it's thumping in my throat and I have a pounding headache and none of that has to do with the harrowing drive over either. I'm already out of the car and sprinting up the walk before I've even considered what I'm going to say to her.

Right this second, I'm not sure how I even feel about the pregnancy other than the vague knowledge that I'm not sad about it. I just need direct confirmation from her that it's true before I really let it sink in. I raise my fist to knock on the door but don't make it that far because it suddenly yawns open and Jane appears out of nowhere. Startled, I fall back a step.

"Michael?" she cries, her face blank with surprise, "What are you doing here? You know Mateo's in school right now, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know that. I need to talk to you. Were you on your way out?"

"Yes, I was. It's my day off. I was about to head to the grocery store but, I can spare a few minutes." She steps back to let me scoot past her into the house. I literally feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin as I watch her close the door. It takes forever for her to turn around and face me, at least in my mind it does. "So what's up?"

I can imagine the picture I present right now. I'm visibly tense and unable to stand still. I'm sweaty and out of breath and I have to physically restrain myself from pacing the length of her grandmother's living room. She must think I'm having a breakdown in the middle of her living room. The fact that she's watching me with wary concern only makes it worse.

"Michael? Are you okay? You look upset. Did something happen?"

"Yeah, something happened," I reply before simply blurting, "Jane, are you pregnant?"

The question is superfluous since I am 99.9% certain of the answer already. If I had taken more time to think about my approach, I might have been more dignified when confronting her. After all, I'm a police detective and I'm quite proud of my interrogation skills. Usually, I have more finesse than this but, not this time. Not with her. I'm so frazzled, so overwhelmed that I utter the first clumsy thing that pops into my head. It doesn't help that Jane appears extremely panicked after I ask either. Her reaction dispels my leftover 0.01% of doubt without her having to say a word.

"Who told you?" she whispers.

"Does it matter, Jane? Why didn't _you_ tell me?"

"Are you really asking me that?" The vehement way she makes that demand makes me snap to attention. "You told me that you didn't want me in your life anymore, Michael. I don't know…I…I thought that maybe you wouldn't want it."

"Are you serious?"

"Michael, you said and I quote, 'I just want to try to move on. I need to know what my life looks like without you,'" she recites emotionally, "How was I supposed to come to you after that and tell you I was pregnant?"

"So the fact that you _lied_ is _my_ fault?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm not blaming you. I'm trying to explain my motivation."

Honestly, I can't fault her. Pain is a powerful stimulus and I know that first hand. I also know that declaration must have shattered her if she can remember what I said verbatim. I've had some experience with that as well because I can remember exactly what _she_ said to me the night she broke our engagement all those years ago. Even after we got back together, got married and, essentially, had our abbreviated happily ever after, I still remembered that awful night in vivid detail. My stomach churns with guilt when I think about how I must have hurt her but, at the same time, I'm still a little upset with her for not telling me the truth.

"You know why I said it. You have been going back and forth between me and Rafael for too long and I was tired of being in the middle of that. I wanted you to make a decision."

"I _did_ make a decision. You didn't believe me."

It's a bit more complicated than that but I don't want to get drawn into an argument over semantics with her when we have more important business to cover. "Were you ever going to tell me the truth?" I ask, my tone disillusioned.

"I don't know," she answers, sounding as lost as I feel, "There were times when I made up my mind to do it but I'd always chicken out at the last second. The only thing that I'm absolutely sure of is that I want to have this baby."

"You do? You want to have it?"

"Yes. Of course I do. It's _your_ baby, Michael."

Her answer is like a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. For the first time since hearing the news, I feel strangely calm. "So then you knew you wanted to keep the baby but you weren't going to tell me?" She nods her affirmation. "I don't get it. You didn't think that I would notice you walking around with a baby or…or that I would want to be a part of this?"

"I already told you what I was thinking."

"You couldn't tell me but you told Rafael?"

"Oh," she grunts in aggravation, "so that's how you found out. Makes sense. Mental note to kick his ass later."

"Again, not important. You should have told me, Jane."

"I told Rafael because I needed him to know that it was really over between us, that I didn't want to go back because, no matter what happened, I was always going to love you."

The statement disarms me entirely because I can understand why she would think that knowing about the baby would be a deal breaker for Rafael. Mateo had _almost_ been a deal breaker for me. By telling Rafael the truth, Jane had been, in her own mind, severing their romantic relationship for good. I let that realization wash over me a bit before I speak again.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Yes, Michael! I love you. I'll always love you. And I know you don't feel that way about me anymore and I know you don't want this baby, so we can just-,"

"—You don't know how I feel," I interrupt sharply, "You're just assuming right now."

"Okay. Fine. Tell me how you feel, Michael."

I drag my hands down the length of my face as I struggle to rein in my rampaging emotions and answer her question. "When Rafael first told me the news, I was shocked. I didn't know what to think. The only thing I wanted to do was get here and talk to you. But now that it's really starting to sink in, I…I feel grateful. I feel happy…excited even, which makes zero sense right now because everything is still a mess between us and I-,"

"—Do you love me, Michael?" I'm shocked into motionlessness at the question, because her forthright demeanor catches me off guard. I think, in one decisive stroke, she's cleaved beneath my emotional armor to the vulnerable heart of me and I can't possibly be more undone than I am right this second. But then next words disarm me completely. "Don't think, just tell me. Do you still love me?"

I recognize what she's doing and my entire body becomes warm with the memory. Years ago I asked her this very same question, almost in the very same spot and my answer to her now is the same answer she gave me back then. "Yes. Yes, I still love you."

Before I'm prepared, she throws herself against me then and presses her mouth to mine in an eager kiss, knocking me off balance. I catch her in my arms and I'm kissing her back, wildly, desperately as we tumble down onto the sofa, giggling into each other's mouths, tangled together. I gather her against me, nibbling her lips and chin and jaw, simply content to have her in my arms again.

Eventually, though, our laughter begins to fade as our nuzzling becomes kisses and those kisses begin to linger and intensify. I nip along the delicate column of her throat, emboldened when she moans her approval. Her skin is soft. The faint scent of her body wash still clings from her morning shower.

I drag my mouth lower, skimming the tip of my tongue across her fluttering pulse. My exploration descends lower, to the softness of her shoulder and the ridge of her collarbone. I push away her clothing so I can taste and touch more of her skin, removing her shirt and bra with impassioned focus, driven by the undeniable need to kiss her everywhere.

Her fingers tunnel and twist through my hair, twisting, bunching and pulling. My scalp tingles. My body tingles. She cradles me closer to her as I nuzzle her breasts, swirl my tongue against her turgid nipples, press hungry, heated kisses across her skin. Her breathless moans echo in my ears, compelling me to find my way to her mouth again for yet another taste of her.

The need for skin to skin contact becomes paramount. Together we impatiently unbutton my shirt in between frantic kisses. We toss it away and I have no idea where it lands. I don't care. My undershirt, belt and badge quickly follow. I'm pretty sure I'll have a hard time finding all three later on. I don't care about that either. She's kissing her way down my naked torso and making a deliberate trek towards my crotch and the only thing I can think about is what she's going to do when she reaches her destination.

At the first tentative lick of her tongue, I catch my breath hard and fist my hands into the couch cushions. When she takes me into her mouth, I literally see stars. What escapes my throat after that is a series of garbled grunts and gurgling moans that have no discernible relationship to actual language. I'm about three seconds from losing it completely when I finally make enough sense to breathlessly suggest we go to her bedroom.

We stumble blindly down the hallway, tangled together in frenetic need, carelessly discarding various articles of clothing in between messy, uncoordinated kisses along the way. By the time we reach her bedroom, we're both completely naked. She climbs into her bed and then reaches out to pull me down against her. Any further foreplay is kept to a minimum. But because I'm driven by the need to touch her everywhere, I flutter my fingers against the soft, sweet warmth between her legs. I penetrate her once. Twice more and a third time before I find the rhythm I know she likes.

She moans her approval and lifts her hips against my palm, rolling them against hand as I thoroughly explore the slick depths of her. When her fingers begin to press harder into my forearm and I can feel her growing wetter, I gather her beneath me for another breathless kiss and replace my questing fingers with the tip of my erection. Our mutual cries of pleasure meld into one.

I sink deep, a groan of satisfaction rumbling in my throat when her slippery, vaginal muscles contract around me. We've done this dance a hundred times in our past but it still feels new. The heat of her, the sweet, yielding contours of her body drawing me deeper, pulsing around me so tightly will always take my breath away like the very first time. Her fingernails bite into my ass as I penetrate her again and again. Her guttural moans echo my ears. Our hips rock together in an indiscernible rhythm, bodies undulating, thrusting, moving back and forth, in and out, faster and harder.

My every muscle burns with exertion. My thighs. My back. My chest. And I can't stop. I'm motivated by pure need. I bury my face in her throat and we're racing for the finish together, moving faster and faster, our breaths coming serrated gasps, our bodies slick with perspiration.

When she finally comes, I can feel it wash over me. Her inner walls convulse spasmodically and she groans out my name long and low. She arches into me, grinding her hips against mine in slow, sensuous circles until I cry out and come with her, until I empty all of myself inside of her. Even then, I keep on thrusting through those last currents of sensation, until my orgasm gradually ebbs and I'm spent of everything. Afterwards, I collapse against her in exhaustion.

In that moment, I don't want to move at all. I keep my face tucked into the crook of her neck and let myself enjoy the feel of her damp body pressed to mine for a few minutes more before I finally find the motivation to roll away. But I immediately shift onto my side pull her back against me when I do, still craving contact with her warm, moist skin. She snuggles into the crook of my body with a contented sigh, her cheek pillowed against my inner arm.

In sweet, contented silence, I splay my hand over her lower abdomen, overwhelmed and humbled by the knowledge that our baby is growing inside of her. We actually made a baby. It's the first time that I think of it and feel nothing except incredible joy. I'm filled with awe and gratitude. I can feel my throat clog with emotion at the thought and, for a horrifying second, I think I might actually tear up. As if she senses that, Jane covers my hand with her own and then favors me with a bittersweet smile over her shoulder.

"I should have told you," she whispers in regret.

I lean forward to kiss her softly because I don't want to waste these precious moments we have together on regret. We've already lost too much time as it is. "I understand why you didn't," I whisper back, "But Jane, I want to be a part of this. No more lies, okay, and I mean that for me too. I want us to share every moment of your pregnancy from this point forward. Promise me."

She shifts onto her back so she can look at me directly and I know she does that because she wants me to see her sincerity when she says, "I promise. From this moment on, you and I are in this together, Michael. And, you're right. There shouldn't be any more lies between us."

"Good."

I press another kiss to her lips before moving down the length of her body to brush a softer kiss just below her navel. "I can hardly believe this is real," I mumble into her skin, "There's a baby inside of you." I imagine a little girl with her eyes and her smile and I can honestly say my heart feels full in that moment. I've never felt more content or at peace in my life. I lift my head to regard Jane with an enamored smile. "I think I love this baby already."

Jane brushes her fingertips across my cheek, her dark eyes soft with adoration as she looks at me. "I love you so much. This is what I've always wanted with you. I never thought I would have this chance again. I don't want us to waste this second chance we have, Michael."

Although I don't make a similar reply back to her when I press my lips to her belly once more and nibble a path across her skin, lower and lower until I'm kissing the most intimate part of her, I leave no doubt in her mind that I am in full agreement. I leave no doubt in her mind that I love her. More than anything. More than anyone. And I always will. I spend the next hour showing her with my lips and hands just how much.

Afterwards, we lay snuggled together, tangled in her bedsheets and each other and teetering on the edge of sleep. I'm just beginning to drift off when I hear her ask, "So now what happens?"

With my eyes closed, I smile at the question because the answer is so very easy. I don't have to think about it at all. "Now we get married and live happily ever after."

She tips her head up and I crack open one eye to find her smirking at me. "You're really quick with those proposals, aren't you?"

I thread my fingers through her tousled hair and favor her with a sleepy smile. "What can I say? When I know what I want, I go for it."

"Are you sure you're not asking me to marry you because you knocked me up?"

"Are you kidding? That's the _only_ reason I'm asking you." My teasing earns me a warning pinch to my flank. I answer with a dramatic yelp. "Come on now, there's no cause for violence. Make love not war, Jane."

"I'm being serious, Michael," she says with a stern frown, "Yesterday you weren't even speaking to me and today…"

"…today I've spent the entire afternoon screwing you senseless," I finish irreverently, "Yeah, well again, what can I say? I'm a passionate sort of guy and I exercise the prerogative to change my mind."

"I'm going to kick you," Jane warns me even as she struggles to bite back her answering smile, "When I got up this morning, this was the last thing I expected to be doing with my afternoon. I honestly didn't think we'd ever have this again. I thought you would hate me forever."

"I've never hated you, Jane. I tried but I couldn't. Sometimes I think loving you is built into my DNA. It's always there. The only difference between then and now is that I'm willing to admit it and I'm not so angry about it anymore."

"So what changed?"

"On my way here I was thinking about what you said about the Universe always finding a way to put us back together," I tell her quietly, "And you were right, I think. I didn't want to admit it then because I was too scared to let myself love you but when Rafael told me about the baby it felt like…"

"Felt like what?" she prompts gently when I can't finish.

"Like we're meant to be together," I whisper, "In spite of all the hardships and misunderstandings and hurt, we keep finding our way back to each other. We keep finding reasons to choose each other. I think, maybe, we always will."

"Well, it's about damned time you figured that out, Cordero. What took you so long?"

"You may not know this but sometimes I can be very stubborn. Occupational hazard."

"No," she gasps in mock surprise, "Really? I couldn't tell."

I smile at her answer and lift my head to kiss her sweetly. "How did I ever think that I could walk away from you? You're my world, do you know that? Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?"

She smiles back and tucks herself against my side with a contented sigh. "I have an idea. You're my world too."


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight (Jane POV)**

It's been five years since I've had the luxury of doing it but I'm surprised to discover that I still like watching Michael sleep. Very much. Currently, his arm is thrown across my upper chest and his face mere inches from my own so, anchored in position as I am, studying his beautiful face seems like as good a pastime as any. He always looks strangely innocent to me this way, he features so relaxed and unguarded, his soft, pink lips slightly parted, his dusky eyelashes fluttering as he dreams. I'm compelled to lift my hand and draw my knuckles lightly across his cheek because I have to touch him and remind myself that he is real. He won't disappear.

I could happily lie there forever just staring at him but, unfortunately, my bladder is pressing for my attention in a most demanding way. It's my newest pregnancy symptom caused my growing uterus putting pressure on my tiny bladder which results in frequent trips to the bathroom. Holding it is rarely an option either. So, when the demand to urinate becomes too real to ignore, I attempt to carefully scoot out from underneath him and make a dash for the bathroom. The second I start to move, however, Michael's arm tightens around me and he pulls me closer with a sleepy grunt of protest.

"Where you going?" he mumbles into my shoulder drowsily, "Stay here."

"Michael, I really have to pee, so unless you want me to flood the bed, let go," I whisper in laughing explanation while continuing to wiggle away, "I'll be back in two minutes."

He snuggles deeper into the tousled sheets once I break free and I'm pretty sure he'll still be asleep by the time I return. I quickly throw on a t-shirt and pad out into the hallway. In the bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror after I'm finished and I'm surprised by what I see. I almost don't recognize myself. The smiling face of the idealistic girl I had been five years ago looks back at me. My eyes are glowing. I can't stop grinning because my life feels very damned near perfect right now. It is a blissful satisfaction that I haven't felt in a very long time.

I used to wake up every day, ready to face what came, happy in my life but always vaguely aware that something wasn't completely right. Something was missing. Michael's absence from my life was always the specter that loomed on the edge of my consciousness. The acute pain that had once been there eventually faded but the ache for his presence did not. It never did…until now. That missing something has finally returned and I feel like myself again. I raise a tearful smile heavenward.

"Thank you," I whisper gratefully.

My plan is to tiptoe back into my bedroom and cuddle with Michael for another hour more before we're both forced to rise and dress but when I creep back through the door, I am surprised to find him awake and lying propped up by several pillows. I stop short with a soft smile, marveling at how adorable he looks with his puffy eyes and bed hair. "Hey."

"Hey," he croaks groggily in return.

I climb back into bed with him. "I thought you'd be asleep when I came back."

"I was but then I got to thinking."

"About what?"

"This is the second time you've slept with me."

I blink at him and choke an ironic smile. "No. I'm pretty sure we've slept together plenty of times, Michael. Are you sure you're not still having trouble with your memory?"

"My memory is fine. I mean since I've come back…this is the second time and we're not married," he clarifies, "You haven't mentioned that once. I guess I was wondering when you suddenly got into having casual sex."

My heart flutters a bit at the question, not because I'm ashamed of my choices but because I know that it's something significantly different from the Jane he had once known. I can sympathize with how that might be a little disorienting for him. But, magnanimity aside, I'm also afraid he might be disappointed or repulsed by the change. It's not the most feminist, girl empowering thought in the world but I fear his rejection more than anything.

"There's nothing 'casual' to me about what happened between us this afternoon, Michael," I whisper, "Not at all."

"You know what I mean."

I nibble my lower lip in rising apprehension. "Does that bother you?" I'm prepared to defend my decisions to the death if it does but I also really hope that I won't need to go there. In the end, however, I should have known that I was being anxious over nothing. This is Michael, after all, and there are no deal breakers with this man.

"It doesn't really bother me, per se. It's just different. You're different. And that's not bad, just surprising."

"Different how?"

"You're a lot more…um, I don't know…bolder, wilder than I remember," he explains with a glimmer of a wry smile, "There's this self-assurance that you have now that I find really, really sexy. It's like you've finally embraced your sexuality and you're celebrating it, which I think is a good thing."

"But…" I prompt when I sense he's left something unspoken. I try not to fidget in alarm. "Is this the part where we have a discussion about how many men I've slept with while you were gone?" I ask with some measure of dread.

"No. But that answer does confirm for me that you've slept with other men."

I want to sink through the floor because I can't imagine what he must be thinking. Not about the fact that I slept with other men but that I slept with other men while he was being held captive and tortured. It's difficult to look him in the eye right then. "Oh, Michael, I-,"

"—It's okay! It's really okay," he's quick to reassure me before I can spiral into a vat of guilt and self-doubt. He goes a step further by reaching over to pull me into his arms. When I'm settled against him, albeit tensely, he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. He strokes my back in slow, soothing circles until I finally start to relax. "I am not trying to make you feel bad," he reassures me softly, "Nor do I want you to feel bad. You thought I was dead, Jane. It's not like I expected you to become a nun. I don't feel like you cheated on me or anything so, put that thought out of your mind."

I peek up at him through the curtain of my hair. "Really? You don't?"

"Come on. Did you honestly expect me to be upset about it?"

"Maybe a little," I confess meekly, "I think I'd be upset if it was the other way around."

"No, you wouldn't. You'd understand, just like I understand."

"So then, if you're not angry, how do you feel?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure that you've slept with Rafael…"

"Oh God, Michael," I groan in consternation but when I attempt to twist away from him he holds me fast.

"It's fine. It's fine. It's totally fine," he insists gently, "I'm just wondering when did it change." I stare at him in clear discomfort. "Come on," he cajoles, "We should talk about it."

I respond with a vehement shake of my head. "I don't want to."

"Jane, don't be like that. It's a part of who you've become and I want to know that woman. I want to know everything about her. Tell me everything that I've missed. Start from the beginning and don't leave anything out."

He's so calm, so sweet, so sincere about it that I find myself relaxing against him and telling him everything. I explain to him how, for the first three years following his death, I hadn't been interested in a relationship, much less sex. At least, with anyone besides him. It had been a gradual realization for me that the sexual part of myself hadn't died when he did. And so I'd experimented, first with Fabian and then with Adam, with whom I had also fallen in love and then finally there was Rafael. That last part is the hardest to tell because I know that it's difficult for him to hear but he never once turns away from me or shuts down emotionally when I do and for that I am eternally grateful.

Forty-five minutes later, when I'm finished speaking I chance a cautious glance up at him. "So…that's everything," I whisper, "Do you feel differently about me?"

"Of course not. I'm glad that you didn't let my 'death' paralyze you," he says, "When I was being held captive, I thought about you all the time, what you must be thinking and feeling, and my biggest fear was that you would give up. I hated thinking that you wouldn't have any joy in life because of what happened and I didn't want that for you."

"For a long time, that's how I felt, Michael. Life didn't have any meaning for me after you were gone," I confess to him gruffly, "It took me years to find my balance again. I even wrote a book about us partly because I thought it might help me process my grief."

"I know. I read it."

"What?" I scramble upright at his casual admission, my eyes flared wide. "You read my book?"

"My mom mentioned that you'd wrote one but she wouldn't tell me the name," he says, "So I googled and found it on my own. Later on, I saw it on the shelf at the store and I bought it on impulse."

I'm caught somewhere between elation and trepidation right now. I want to ask him a dozen questions but I force myself to play it cool. "You never told me."

He shrugs, as if he didn't just drop the most monumental news on me ever! "It never came up."

"So…" I press impatiently when he doesn't say anything more, "…what did you think about it?"

"I think you've really grown as a writer," he says.

I melt at the compliment. "Really?"

"Yeah, you have. I could tell that you've gotten a better grasp on what you're trying to convey. Your writing is more focused, more…emotional. And, honestly in hindsight, I think I'm glad to see what happened with you, me and Rafael through your eyes," he tells me, "Although, when I read it the first time around that was a little tough."

"The first time?" I echo with a small smile.

He tries to suppress his answering smile and fails. "Maybe I've read it more than once," he admits sheepishly, "The point is, it gave me some perspective on why you fell in love with Rafael. I guess I understand why you were drawn to him in the first place. It was good for your first published work ever."

"My _only_ published work ever, you know. The critics hated it. They said that it 'fell flat' with promise unfulfilled."

"It was your first book, Jane. You've got to work through the growing pains. You know that you're a good writer, so take everything those critics said and turn that to your advantage. Make something better."

"That's pretty much the same thing Rafael told me."

"I guess he can be smart sometimes too."

I giggle and fall back against his chest. But as I lay there, listening to the thump, thump, thump of his heart, my smiles fades a bit because I wonder how much of his flippant remark was a joke and how much was spurred by bitterness. "Are you bothered by the fact that I fell in love with him again, Michael?" I ask, "Be honest with me."

His heartbeat increases slightly with the question. "It doesn't thrill me," he admits gruffly, "But it is what it is. I can't change it. And it does explain Petra now that I think about it."

I twist a frown up at him. "What about Petra?"

"She came to my hotel room a few months ago to ream me out for coming between you and Rafael," he explains, "This was back when I still couldn't remember much so I didn't know who the hell she was. Having her go off on me was more irritating than anything else. I couldn't understand her stake in any of it. She came there to fight on Rafael's behalf, which is actually weird in hindsight. I thought Petra wanted him for herself."

"You've missed a lot. Petra's into girls now."

He gasps dramatically at that juicy tidbit. "What? For real?" And then he mumbles in sarcastic aside, "I guess it makes sense though. She was married to Rafael after all. That's enough to turn anyone off men." I poke him playfully for that irreverent comment but dissolve into laughter completely when he says, "You're not into girls too, are you? Although, if you are, I'd be open to watching."

"Ew, Michael! Really?"

"I'm just saying."

I cover his mouth with a warning look but it's difficult to keep my smile at bay. "Stop talking."

He kisses my palm and pulls my hand away. "Okay, okay," he laughs in defeat, "But it's a lot to take in. You getting in touch with your inner freak. Petra being into girls. What's next?"

"We're friends."

"What?"

"Petra and I are friends…very close friends in fact," I tell him, "Although she's aggravated with me at the moment because of Rafael, she and I are pretty close. She actually helped me a lot after you died."

"And Rafael too, I assume."

"Let's not talk about that."

"Why not? It's a fact. You were in love with him. You were going to marry him. We can't pretend like none of that happened or like your relationship with him didn't grow and deepen while I was gone. We can't pretend like he doesn't know you as well as I do, probably better in fact."

"You'll know me like that again," I assure him quietly, "It will take time. That's all."

"I know that."

"I just don't want you to worry. I don't want you to think you're not enough."

"I'd be more worried if _you_ thought that," he counters softly, "Listen, you asked me a few minutes ago if I was bothered by the fact you and Rafael were in love but I think the real question is…are _you_ bothered by it?"

Once again, his enduring patience and insight prompts me to be completely open with him. I tip my head back to regard him. "At first, I was. When Rafael and I happened again, I was afraid of what that meant because of all the history between us and everything that happened with you.

"I started to wonder if that meant that Raf and I were inevitable somehow," I continue in teary, trembling confession, "And that made me wonder if you had lived and we were still married, would I have eventually gone back to him. I mean, I actually forgot the anniversary of your death because I was with him and that had never happened before. It made me feel awful."

"Jane, it's okay that you forgot. It doesn't mean you loved me less," he whispers into my hair tenderly, "And forgetting makes sense because, eventually, time dulls the pain and I'm glad that it did. I would have much rather you spent that day happy than mourning me."

"I don't understand how you can be so accepting of all of this."

He brushes his thumb across the curve of my cheek. "I love you. Your happiness has always meant everything to me. But I have to ask…do you still feel that you and Rafael are inevitable? Because if you're at all confused about your fee-,"

I kiss him quickly before he can finish the thought. "I'm not confused about anything, Michael," I whisper against his lips, shifting over to straddle his body as I do, "You're the only one I want."

If Michael has any intention of arguing about that further, he forgets all about it when I link my hands with his and pin him back into the bed for another kiss. This time I explore his mouth slowly, sweetly. I nibble across his jaw, down to his neck and shoulder, rocking my hips against his until I feel him harden in response. He pulls his hands free to cup my face, searching for my mouth with his own. Panting in mutual desire, we work together to position the tip of his erection against my swollen opening. When he enters me, I gasp aloud of the sensation.

I lean back, bracing my hands against his chest as I ride him purposely, masterfully and entirely confident in how I want to please him and be pleased in return. He slips his hands beneath my t-shirt and kneads my breasts in tandem with his thrusts. Our fitful grunts echo simultaneously with the rhythmic creaks of my bedsprings.

This is what I've missed, the incredible pleasure of being filled so completely by him that I don't know where I begin and he ends. I don't want to close my eyes and lose myself in the sensation. I want to watch him. My desire is heightened by the flickers of ecstasy that chase across his face, the grimaces of building desire, the way he groans my name as he sinks himself inside me again and again. When my orgasm takes hold it's spurred on by his rumbling eruption of pleasure as much as my own.

Afterwards, I collapse weakly against his chest, my heart thundering. He is shaking and breathless and so am I. A smile stretches across my mouth when I feel him smack a sound kiss the crown of my head.

"Whoo!" he yips softly in that way that always makes me giggle, "I'm definitely, _definitely_ liking this new side to you." I'm still muffling my laughter against his chest when he whispers in a deeply regretful tone, "We probably can't stay in bed all day, can we?"

I glance over at my bedside clock. "Sadly no. Mateo will be out of school soon. He and Abuela will be here in less than an hour."

"Plus, you never did your grocery shopping," Michael reminds me.

"Oh, damn it! I completely forgot!" I groan in afterthought, "I guess that means we'll be having canned beans for dinner tonight."

"How is that any different from the usual?" he teases me.

I fix him with a narrowed glare. "For your information, my skills in the kitchen have improved greatly in the last five years."

"Define 'improved greatly,'" he challenges.

Lifting my chin haughtily, I declare, "I can now slice vegetables without including a trip to the emergency room. Boom!"

He commends me with mock applause. "I'm impressed. You're able to avoid bodily injury now. Who cares if you actually made the meal or not? Bravo!"

"Get out of my bed right now if you're going to be sassy," I order him with a good-natured smile.

Grinning, Michael scoots from beneath me and climbs from the bed. I lean back into the pillows and brazenly admire the view he provides. It's been a long time since I've had such unlimited access to his naked body and I want to enjoy it to the fullest. I want to marvel at the changes. He's never been very muscular but I've always enjoyed his lean, sleek contours. There are new scars and grooved areas that weren't there before, faded reminders of the hell he endured. He's still thinner than he used to be but, on the whole, no less beautiful to me. More beautiful, in fact, because of all that he had survived.

However, Michael is completely oblivious to my avid perusal because he's too busy conducting an intense search of my bedroom floor. He turns about in the center of the room, his eyebrows knit with a confused frown. "Did you lose something?" I ask him cheekily.

He smiles at me in dismay. "Yes, actually. My clothes. Where did I put them?"

"Oh those," I laugh with a dismissive wave, "They're all over the house, remember?"

With a growing smile, I watch his face as he recalls exactly how that came to be. "Oh right. I remember. We were pretty eager to get naked, weren't we?"

"A little bit." We exchange goofy smiles with each other before I say, "I can get them together for you if you want take a shower. You've got a long drive back to Fort Myers. I'm sure you want to get cleaned up first."

"Oh, right," he grunts, slapping his forehead, "I didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?" I ask, puzzled by his weird expression.

"I actually don't have to drive back to Fort Myers tonight," he admits hesitantly, "Because I have an apartment here in Miami."

"You do? Since when?"

"Um…since three weeks ago. I just signed the lease," he says, "I planned to tell you today but we got a little sidetracked."

"Oooh. I want to see it."

"Of course," he agrees without reserve, "But it's not much so don't get too excited. I've got about five pieces of furniture and that's it. I will take you up on that shower though because I need to head back to the station to finish up a few things and I'm pretty sure I reek of sex." He regards me with a half lidded stare full of seduction and asks, "You wanna join me?"

I'm replying to his invitation before he's even finished making it. "Yes." We exchange yet another round of wide, goofy grins. "Just let me get our clothes and I'll meet you in the bathroom."

I dart around the house like a mad woman, plucking up our scattered articles of clothing in under thirty seconds. Once I've gathered everything, I waste no time getting to the bathroom. Michael is already under the spray when I enter. The air has become thick and balmy from the water's temperature and giant tufts of steam rise up from the shower stall. I had forgotten how much he loved to have a hot shower. He'd always emerge pink and dewy and I would tease him about trying to steam himself alive.

Feeling a little nostalgic, I stand in the door for a moment and watch the silhouette of his body beyond the frosted glass as he washes up. Oblivious to my presence as of yet, Michael whistles a happy little tune. I think I might be able to sneak up on him but, as soon as I start to creep inside, he pokes his head out from the shower.

"What are you waiting for?" he demands, squinting at me, "Get in here!"

"You knew I was here the whole time!"

"Of course. How'd you enjoy the show?" I roll my eyes. "I'll give you another up close and personal," he promises, bobbing his eyebrows at me.

Needing no further invitation than that, I dump the clothes on the floor in an unceremonious heap and then whip my t-shirt over my head. I'm just about to jump in with him when the doorbell rings. We both freeze in place and regard one another with wide eyes.

"Are you expecting someone?" Michaels asks slowly.

I shake my head. "Maybe they'll go away." But as soon as I make a move, the doorbell sounds again…and again…and again.

Michael makes a face. "I don't think they're going away, Jane."

"Oh, gah! It's probably my dad," I theorize in an irritated huff as I haphazardly yank back on my clothes, "He's the only one who rings the bell like a maniac." When I'm finished getting dressed, I peck a kiss to Michael's pouting mouth. "Give me five minutes to get rid of him."

"Make it three," Michael calls at my back.

I'm still giggling at his eager edict when I pull open the front door and find Rafael standing on the other side of it instead of my father. The laughter instantly vanishes from my face. "Raf?" I say, in that moment painfully aware of my rumpled appearance from an entire afternoon of sex with Michael. I know it's unlikely that he can tell that just by looking at me but I'm self-conscious nonetheless. "What are you doing here?"

He brushes past me into the house without waiting for an invitation. "I need to tell you something. I didn't know if he would try to contact you and I wanted to give you a heads up before that happened!"

I don't really register the words he is saying even though I hear them because all I can think about is Michael in the shower at that very second. The potential for disaster is enormous. My only option is to blow Rafael off. "Hey, Raf, sorry but it's not really a good time for me right now."

"I just want you to know that what I did, I did because I love you," he prefaces, plowing into his explanation as if I'd said nothing at all, "I want you to be happy, Jane. That's really important to me. In hindsight, I realize that maybe I didn't think it through."

"What did you do?" I ask, my mind already turning over scenarios, "Is it about Mateo? The hotel? What?"

"Maybe you should sit down first."

He can barely restrain himself from prowling the living room like a caged animal and that only heightens my concern. "Just tell me," I growl impatiently, "You're freaking me out right now!"

"I told Michael that you were pregnant," he blurts in a dramatic rush.

I blink at him because his surprising news isn't so surprising to me. "Oh."

He blinks back at me. "Is that 'oh' as in okay or 'oh' as in you're mad at me?"

"It's oh as in oh," I reply wryly, "I already knew."

Rafael expels a long, low groan of consternation. "So, Michael _did_ confront you after all then," he deduces mournfully, "I was hoping to get to you before he did."

"It's okay."

"Jane, I am so, so sorry. I never should have overstepped that way. But you were miserable and I knew you needed him. I wanted to help."

"I know," I acknowledge softly, "And it's okay. It's really okay."

I'm searching for a way to gently reveal to him that Michael and I have reconciled when Michael emerges from the back of the house, freshly showered with damp hair but thankfully dressed albeit shoeless and with his shirt untucked. "Babe, I tried to wait for you as long as I could but, I really have to…" He starts to trail off in the remainder of his statement just as he catches sight of Rafael standing there. "…go." he finishes in a slow expulsion of breath.

I check the impulse to scurry into the nearest corner while Michael composes himself. "Oh," he says much the way I had one minute earlier, "Hey, Rafael."

Rafael glances between us, no doubt noting my disheveled appearance and Michael's wet hair and bare feet and drawing the most obvious conclusion. When he looks away, his jaw clenched tightly, I know that he has. "Hey, Michael."

The three of us stand there awkwardly, each of us unable to speak a word to ease the suffocating tension. I glance back and forth between Michael and Rafael. Neither of them will even look at the other. I know expecting either of them to "man up" in this situation is a fruitless endeavor so I decide to put on my big girl panties and do it myself.

"Michael came to see me after you told him about the baby," I tell Rafael, "We're back together."

"I can see that."

"Isn't that the reason you told him in the first place?"

"Yeah…yeah…" he agrees gruffly, "Of course. Congratulations."

"Thank you, by the way," Michael interjects, "I know how much it must have cost you to do what you did today. It means a lot."

"It was the right thing to do," Rafael replies in a mildly dismissive air, "The important thing is that you two are getting along. You're expecting a baby together after all."

"Thanks for looking out," Michael mutters and I think it's mostly because he doesn't know what else to say. I can sympathize. Truthfully, I don't know what to say either. I know how much Rafael must be hurting to be here with us this way.

But he betrays none of that pain when he says, "I'm actually glad you're here, Michael."

Michael regards him warily, visibly suspicious of that statement. "You are?"

"Yes. The three of us should discuss what we're going to tell Mateo."

"The three of us?" Michael and I echo simultaneously.

"Yes," Rafael replies without reserve, "You and Michael are together now, Jane, so he's going to be in Mateo's life. He should be a part of the discussion, especially since it involves him."

I can sense the resolve in his tone but also the bitterness that sours his words. I don't doubt that Rafael is being sincere. I also don't doubt that he hates every second of it. And if the expression on Michael's face is any indication, he senses Rafael's inner conflict as well.

He and I trade an uncertain glance before he asks Rafael, "Are you sure about this?"

Rafael looks over at me when he answers, his eyes dark with unspoken emotion. "No, I'm not sure. But I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine (Michael POV)**

My palms are sweating as I pull the car to a stop in front of the house and cut the ignition.

I am thirty four years old, a seasoned detective with impeccable investigative skills. I have brought hardened criminals to justice, risked my life countless times in the line of duty. I've been shot, survived a kidnapping, torture and amnesia, faced the repercussions of all of that and have come out intact on the other side. And yet, despite all of those accomplishments, I've worked myself up into turmoil because I'm dreading to face a six year old boy.

There are at least a dozen other ways I'd like to spend my evening and none of them include shattering the lifelong dreams of a little kid. I'm not prepared mentally or emotionally to deal with the hatred that is almost guaranteed to come my way. In fact, when Rafael first made the suggestion, I was that he was trying to trap me somehow. Actually, that remains my suspicion, even though Jane insists that I'm being paranoid.

But I can't help it. His sudden turnabout seems…odd. Rafael has never wanted me within 10 feet of Mateo before this and now he suddenly wants us to be one great, big happy, blended family? Nope. I am not buying it. He knows his kid is going to reject me and he wants a front row seat to watch the show.

Okay, maybe it's possible that theory is a little extreme. I sincerely doubt that Rafael is going to eagerly welcome Mateo's heartbreak just to see me squirm. He is probably _not_ out to get me…much. But his son? His quirky, intuitive little boy whom I love so much? There is a very really probability that he will reject me outright and I don't know if I can handle that.

By mutual agreement, Jane, Rafael and I decided that the best place for dinner would be a spot that was private but neutral and familiar to Mateo. Ultimately, we decided on Rafael's new place which is more than a little awkward since his house was actually going to be his and _Jane's_ house at one time. It's ironic because the house is located in one of the neighborhoods in which Jane and I had once gone house-hunting so many years before. Maybe under different circumstances we might have ended up there. Life was definitely strange and winding sometimes.

Still, as it is, this is the house where Jane and Rafael would have raised Mateo, maybe even tried for more kids if that was possible for Rafael. At the very least, this would have been the house where they would have expanded their family one way or another. It now stands as a representation of a future that will never be, because all of those hopes and dreams for a life together there had been shattered when Jane chose me. In hindsight, I can't imagine why Rafael would have volunteered his place for this. It would have been much too painful for me if I were in his shoes.

Unable to put it off any longer, I exit the car with a resigned sigh. I feel like a figurative dead man walking to his execution as I start up the path towards the house but I'm miraculously granted an unexpected reprieve when Jane suddenly slips from the front door and comes bounding down to meet me. We had agreed earlier that day that it would be best if she and I arrived separately at Rafael's but it was understood that she would come over to my place to spend the night later on after she got Mateo settled at home. That prospect gives me something to look forward to later and it's foremost in my mind when she hugs me tightly in greeting. For that brief moment, everything is right with my world.

"How bad do you think it's going to be?" I ask apprehensively when we part, "On the levels of dinner last night with your parents?"

Apparently, Jane and Rogelio had been in a rather prolonged fight due to her decision not to tell me about the baby. I was touched to learn that Rogelio had been arguing so fiercely on my behalf but not so thrilled about the stress their rift had caused Jane. Fortunately, all that anger and resentment was forgotten once Rogelio had been told that we'd reconciled so the dinner was supposed to be in celebration of that.

Still, despite all the good intentions, it had been a super-awkward affair in the very beginning. For most of the early part of the evening, the four of us had mostly walked on eggshells around each other. When that wasn't the case, Rogelio was gushing (sometimes to the point of embarrassment) about how happy he was that Jane and I were back together and having a baby. According to him, he "ships" Jane and I "so hard" and we filled his "shipper heart" with "feels." Whatever the hell that means. He seemed happy so I tried not to question it too much.

In Rogelio's over-effusive excitement, he actually thought it was a good idea to wear a t-shirt with my and Jane's faces emblazoned on the front with the bold heading above our heads: _Yep, they're back together..._ But it only got worse when he turned around. The back finished the statement: _…and expecting a baby._ I was sure it couldn't possibly get any weirder but then I had to apologize to Xo for nearly killing her grandson's father. She, in turn, apologized to me for knocking me unconscious with an unabridged, hardcover dictionary. _If I had known you were brainwashed, I would have used something lighter._

We stumbled our way through that dinner but, in the end, it had been fine. Great, even. I had laughed more in that three hours than I had in the last three months combined. But the path to get there had been unbearable. I'm expecting something similar tonight.

"He thinks we're planning a surprise trip to Disney World," Jane says grimly in answer to my question, "He doesn't see it coming at all. So, I'm anticipating that it's going to be pretty bad."

"Maybe we _can_ take him to Disney World after all," I suggest a little desperately, "Just to smooth the whole thing over."

"No. We're not going to bribe him. This is my life and my choice and he's going to have to get on board because he's the child and I'm the adult."

Jane is firm and convicted now but, I wonder how she is going to feel when she's face with the full onslaught of Mateo's anguished disappointment. That Disney trip might start looking better to her. I file it away as a failsafe possibility.

"Come on," I sigh expansively, looping my arm around her shoulder as we start towards the house, "Let's go ahead and get this over with."

The instant I clear the front door, Mateo greets me with a running tackle of excitement, bypassing his mother completely to throw his small arms around my legs in an exuberant hug. "Hey!" Jane exclaims with an offended pout, "What about me? You didn't react like that when you say me!"

"Oh Mom, it's just you. I see you all the time," Mateo tosses back carelessly, "But I haven't seen Michael in _forever_."

He punctuates that statement by squeezing me even tighter. I'm surprised to realize that I can barely move my legs to walk. As I stumble and teeter, his grip doesn't loosen one iota. I reach down to tousle his hair with an amused laugh. "I missed you too and it has not been forever."

Mateo looks at me with an argumentative expression, his arms falling away at last. "Feels like it."

I stoop down low to hug him back with equal fervor because I can't be sure this won't be the last time I do. "Sorry about that, buddy," I murmur ruefully, "I really did miss you though. A lot."

"I missed you too."

I give him yet another squeeze for that, briefly hefting him into the air when I do. "Oh my gosh, Mateo! Your grandpa was right! You're getting so big!"

"That's because you haven't seen me in a hundred years," he replies sagely, "I'm still the same size." I'm chuckling over that response when he suddenly frames my cheeks in his small hands. "You shaved!" he gasps in childish glee, reminding me once again that he hasn't seen me in more than two months. He runs his palms over my face in amazement. "It's so smooth. I like it! Did you do that for me?"

I grin at him affectionately. I'm vaguely aware of Jane watching the entire exchange with a wistful smile. "Sure, bud. We'll go with that."

Just then a shadow falls over us. I glance up to find Rafael standing there with an imposing stance. His facial expression is inscrutable so there's no way for me to tell what he's thinking. However, his tone gives me some indication when he says with obvious strain, "Hello, Michael. Welcome."

I straighten to shake his extended hand. "Thanks for having me over."

"Of course," he murmurs but I get the impression that he really wants to say something else right then.

Mateo tugs on his hand impatiently. "Daddy! Daddy! Can I show Michael my room?"

"Yeah, go ahead, buddy. Your Mom and I need to discuss a few things."

"They probably just want to kiss and stuff," he says in a loud stage whisper as he takes hold of my hand and leads me away, "We don't want to see that. It's yucky."

Unfortunately, I barely register anything he says as he points out every nook and cranny of his room. I'm too preoccupied with the realization that we are about to utterly blindside this kid. There is about to be a seismic shift in his entire world and that's kind of my fault. I hate that. I hate that I will have a part in disillusioning this child whom I love so much. And it's not that I didn't know that a relationship with Jane would come with collateral damage but I really wish it didn't have to be Mateo that gets wrecked.

When we finally return to the living room twenty-five minutes later and after Mateo has formally introduced me to every action figure he owns and given me their individual background stories, we find Rafael and Jane sitting on the sofa together in tense silence. "Hey, Mateo," Rafael calls out when he spots us, "Come over here and sit down. Mommy and I have something to talk to you about."

"Okay," he agrees, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of them, "Is this about you guys getting married?" I keep myself off on the parameter of their family semi-circle, wisely discerning that I need to hang back for now. As Rafael addresses his son's question, I shove my hands in my pockets and listen to their exchange.

"Yeah, it is actually about that," he replies to Mateo in a gentle tone, "Remember when Mommy and I told you that Michael came back and how happy you were about that because you thought all of us were going to be a family?"

Mateo nods vigorously. "I remember I wanted Michael to live with us. But you said that Michael had his own family."

"That's right. I did. But you were right after all," Rafael says, "Because Michael is Mommy's family the way you and I are her family."

"Okay. What does that mean?"

At that point, Rafael appears choke up at the idea of answering the question so Jane smoothly takes over for him as he takes a second to recollect himself. "Do you remember how sad I was when I thought that Michael was gone?"

Again, Mateo nods. "You cried all the time."

"I did," Jane agrees, "Because I missed him so, so much and it was hard to be without him. I just wanted him to be back with me again."

"Well, he's back now," Mateo says, as if he expects that solution is enough to fix the problem. I'm pretty sure that he actually does. "Michael is back, Mommy, so you don't have to cry anymore. And he's going to stay forever. Right?" He looks over at me for confirmation.

"Right," I manage to whisper with a forced smile.

He beams at his mother. "See, Mom? You don't have to be sad anymore."

"You're right. I don't have to be sad anymore because now I can be with him all the time," she explains softly, "And that's what I want, Mateo. I want to be with Michael all the time because I love him. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

I watch as his innocent expression crumples into something close to devastation and there's no doubt that he understands _exactly_ what Jane is telling him. "You don't want to marry Daddy anymore?" he asks in a shattered tone.

His father is quick to gather him close to comfort him. "It doesn't have to change anything, bud," Rafael reassures him thickly, "I still love you and Mommy still loves you and we still love each other. Your mom is always going to be my friend. But we're not going to live together and we're not going to get married."

"But why?" he wails plaintively.

It's difficult to listen to this, difficult to watch but I make myself stay rather than give into the impulse to quietly duck out of there. I make myself witness every bit of his pain and anguish because it serves as a brutal reminder of what had to be lost for my own personal happiness. I don't think I've ever felt more selfish in my life and it fills me with self-loathing.

"I don't understand," Mateo continues to weep, "Why can't we live together and be a family?"

Rafael kisses his head and tenderly brushes away the tears that stain Mateo's cheeks. "Because Mommy's going to live with Michael and be a family with him instead."

"So Michael's going to marry Mommy?"

I want to speak up then and tell him that isn't something he has to worry about right now. While I _do_ want to marry Jane, I want Mateo to be settled and accepting before we take that step. Thankfully, Jane seems to share my thinking on the matter. We have exchange a wordless look of agreement between us. But when she starts to speak up to reassure Mateo, Rafael interrupts her by saying, "They probably _will_ get married, bud. And that's something that you and me have to prepare for and accept because this is what your mother wants."

Mateo jerks away from him then with a small yelp of rage, his hand clenched tightly into fists. "NO! THAT'S NOT WHAT _I_ WANT!" he screams directly at his mother, so vehemently that Jane actually flinches, "YOU'RE A LIAR! YOU'RE A STUPID, UGLY LIAR AND I HATE YOU! YOU SAID WE WOULD BE A FAMILY!"

At that point, I lose the battle with myself to keep quiet. The look of pure devastation on Jane's face right now compels me to speak. "Hey, Mateo, stop that! You can't talk to your mother that way!" I admonish him sharply, "I don't care how angry you are. You don't disrespect her!"

"SHUT UP!" he yells, in full-fledged tantrum now, "YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! YOU'RE NOT MY DADDY! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!" He punctuates that shout of outrage by sweeping a dozen books and decorative items from the nearby bookshelf to the floor with thumping crash and then runs for his room, sobbing the entire way. A moment later, the loud crack of his bedroom door as he slams it shut reverberates through the house. We all jump at the sound.

Following that emotional fit of rage, we are all silent in the aftermath. Jane is crying. I am too stunned to even speak. But Rafael is clearly angry. He rises to his feet with a scathing glare directed at me. "He's right," he spits wrathfully, "You're not his father and you never will be! I'll accept you in Jane's life because I have to but don't you _ever_ try to parent my son again!"

"Then _you_ parent him! He shouldn't talk to Jane that way," I reply, my words taut with defiance, "You shouldn't let him talk to Jane that way."

"It's none of your business. Stay out of it," he utters, obviously dismissing every word I just said, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to check on my son."

After he's gone, I move to sit next to Jane and pull her into my arms. "It's okay," I whisper again and again, "I'm here. Just tell me what you need."

"I need my child not to hate me," she sniffles pitifully.

"My mom used to always tell me and Billy that if we didn't hate her then she wasn't doing it right," I murmur, hoping to lighten the heavy atmosphere with some humor, "So maybe that's a good thing." She doesn't even crack a glimmer of a smile.

"This isn't the same. I built his hopes up for me and Raf and then I didn't deliver. This is on me."

"How were you supposed to know that I was going to come back, Jane? You couldn't have predicted that this was going to happen. Please don't blame yourself." She looks up at me with wet, wide eyes fairly pleading for absolution. I want to lift her burden of guilt even as I'm suffocating beneath my own. Wanting to comfort her, I start to lean forward to press a kiss to her forehead when Rafael rudely calls for her and startles us apart.

"If you can tear yourself away from Michael for five seconds," he snaps tersely, "your son needs you."

She glances at me apologetically but I wave her away. "Go ahead. I'm actually going to take off anyway."

"What? Michael, no! I don't want you to leave."

"Rafael is right. You both need to focus on Mateo right now. I'll be fine. Call me later."

But as I'm making the lonely drive back to my sparsely decorated apartment, I'm rethinking that reassurance greatly. Without the noise and nervousness and Jane nearby to distract me, I find myself trapped in my own thoughts. Tonight's events tumble around in my mind in bold, vivid detail. I can remember how mottled with rage Mateo became, how devastated Jane looked when he verbally attacked her and how Rafael had stabbed me with accusing eyes, as if saying, "This is all _your_ fault. You broke our family."

I don't know what I thought was going to happen really. I knew perfectly well how excited Mateo was about the prospect of his mother and father being together because he had never passed up an opportunity to tell me. And over and over again, I had reassured him that I had no designs on his mother, that we were only friends…when I knew almost the entire time that I wanted her. I should have known better than to expect, after all of that, that Mateo could easily accept me in Jane's life. I knew better but I had hoped nonetheless.

And now I have to live with the fallout. I knew that was coming too but the reality is much worse than I had imagined. A devastated pregnant girlfriend with a son and an ex-fiancé who hate me. Definitely not good times. And though I wish that it didn't, the situation casts a definite pall on my reconciliation with Jane and her pregnancy. We couldn't even share that news with Mateo tonight because he was so upset. What if he never warmed up to the idea? What if he hates my child, his half sibling, just as much as his father hates me? What happens when Jane is placed in the unconscionable position of having to choose between her children? Then what?

The more I think about it, the more worried and worked up I become. By the time I make it home and toss my keys onto the kitchen counter, I'm so tense that my neck and back feel like they're on fire. All I want is a drink. I have two six packs in the refrigerator and I plan to down all twelve beers. I park myself in front of the television to blindly watch the latest ballgame and drink. I'm on my sixth beer and feeling more than a little buzzed when I hear a tentative knock on my door. Curious over who could be visiting me so late in the evening, I blearily stumble over to the door and pull it open. To my relieved surprise, Jane stands on the other side of it.

"Hey there, pretty lady," I greet with a hazy smile.

"Hey," she says, brushing past me with an inquisitive expression, "What's up with you?" It only takes her a few seconds to assimilate what's going on as soon as she sees the row of empty beer bottles on my coffee table. "Oh my God, Michael! Are you drunk right now?"

"Buzzed," I correct her as I stagger back to the couch and plop down, "I am pleasantly buzzed. I take issue with the word 'drunk.' I am a gentleman and gentlemen do not get drunk."

"Oh yeah? Well, you look pretty wasted, Michael, gentleman or not."

"I am not wasted!" But I bely that passionate denial when I attempt to prop my legs up onto my coffee table and miss it all together. "That's okay. I didn't want to recline anyway."

Jane drops down beside me with a pout. "That's not fair. I want a drink too."

I grab the beer bottle I'd abandoned earlier to answer the door and tip it to my mouth. "Shoulda thought 'bout that before you got knocked up," I tell her after a draught.

"You know you had something to do with that, right?"

"Oh yeah, right. I did." I take another drink before I ask, "So how's the kid?" I'm buzzed enough that some of the sting from Mateo's rejection tonight has faded…just a little bit. "Still pissed?"

"Yep. The kid hates me," Jane sighs despondently, "He didn't even want to come home with me. He's staying with his dad tonight."

"I was hoping things would get better after I left."

"Nope. They got worse."

"That's a bummer."

"Yeah…" She eyes my beer longingly. "Can I just have one sip?" she wheedles, "I'll barely let it touch my tongue! I've had a really hard day."

"No, you cannot," I reply, wagging a chastising finger at her, "Think of our child, woman! The surgeon general advises against it!"

"Fine," she says, suddenly plucking my beer from my hand and setting it down out of reach, "If I can't drink then neither can you." She pokes her tongue out at me for good measure. "You said you wanted to experience this pregnancy with me so here you go."

"Jane, come on," I whine. I attempt a half-hearted stretch around her but she easily blocks my efforts due to my dulled reflexes. "Don't be like that. I need it. It's not every day I disillusion a little boy. I feel like scum. That's like kicking a puppy. Who does that?"

"You didn't disillusion him, Michael."

"Right. I don't know how you can say that with a straight face."

"You didn't," she insists fiercely, "You fell in love. So did I. I'm not apologizing for that anymore, not even to him which is why he's so angry right now. He wanted me to take back wanting to be with you and I wouldn't."

I lean into her, resting my forehead against her temple, basking in her scent and warmth and proximity, overwhelmed by her loyalty to me and our relationship. "I'm so sorry this happened. I feel like this is all my fault."

She turns into my body and nuzzles her nose to mine. "I'm pretty certain this is all drunken remorse talking right now but, for the record, it's not your fault, Michael. You didn't ask to be kidnapped. You didn't ask to be kept away from your family for five years."

"I bulldozed through your life."

"Not even close. You don't want me to blame myself for what happened? You don't blame yourself either."

"I can't help it," I whisper mournfully, "I wish there was something I could do to make it better."

"You can," she tells me in a somber tone. I lift my head to regard her with a hopeful look. "You can take me to El Rey De Las Fritas for a Cuban hamburger. If we hurry, we can make it before they close."

I blink at her incredulously. "What? You want to eat right now?"

"Michael, I'm starving and their burgers are so good! They put the little shoestring fries on top." She smacks her lips in anticipation. "I've been craving it all day. Besides, I was too nervous to eat dinner earlier and it's not like Rafael fed us anything. He's a terrible host."

"Babe, I'm too drunk to drive."

"I thought you said gentlemen don't get drunk," she reminds me with a cheeky smile, "Don't worry. I'll drive. What do you say? You don't want to cry into your beer all night. Let's get out of here."

Surprisingly, that turns out to be a much better idea than staying home alone and getting drunk. On the way to El Rey's we don't talk about Mateo or Rafael at all. Instead, we make silly faces at each other, tell lame jokes and regale one another with over the top work tales. It feels like old times, like classic Michael and Jane before the kidnapping, before Rafael, before the accidental artificial insemination. We are suddenly once again those two people whose lives collided in the best way on the night of her 21st birthday and it feels good. We crank up the radio as loud as we can stand it and when Bruno Mars' _It Will Rain_ comes on the radio we belt it out together in a dramatic, dissonant tune.

"He sang at our wedding, you know," I remark with a nostalgic grin as Jane starts to warble out the second verse, "That was a good day. The best day."

She smiles at me softly. "Yeah. It was the best day."

"The best of the best…until I got shot. That part sucked ass."

"Tell me about it."

"And it hurt. Did I ever tell you that getting shot hurts like a son of a bitch?"

"I kind of assumed that it would, you know…due to the bullet ripping forcefully through your body and creating a hole. Just saying."

"You're right. But, getting shot aside, I still think that it was the best day of my life. That's why I can't let that go," I confess in a tremulous whisper, "I can't let what we had together go because we're so good together. We're the best together, Jane, and I don't want to give that up. Does that make me a bad person?"

"Does it make me a bad person if I tell you that I feel the same way?"

"Probably," I say, my tongue loosened with alcohol so that I can speak freely, "But I don't care because you make me so happy, Jane. And I want this…you and me. I want it forever."

"Me too, Michael."

"God, I love you," I gush, "You are the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me."

She glances over at me, shaking her head. "Thanks. You really are drunk, aren't you?"

"Yep. Sure am." While she's choking back a stunned laugh over that, I continue with my emotional unburdening. "And it doesn't matter to me that you slept with Rafael," I declare sincerely, "I mean, I hate it. I really, _really_ hate it but it's okay because you're mine now and…I had you first." I bob my eyebrows at her for effect but she just rolls her eyes.

"Really, Michael? Could you be more juvenile?"

"Yes. But that's not the point right now. The point is, I'm never letting you go again. And…and, I'm glad it happened. I'm glad you had Rafael to help you."

"You're glad?"

"Yeah," I maintain with the somber seriousness that can only be afforded to someone really drunk, "Because he made you happy and that's a good thing." I'm feeling rather sentimental right now and philosophical too so the words keep flowing from me unchecked. "But I'm not really sad that you dumped him for me and I think that's the problem. I think I feel bad because I don't feel bad enough, not enough to push you back at him. I can't do that because I feel like it's supposed to us, Jane."

"I think that too, baby."

"And lately, I've been thinking about what you said to me the second time I proposed, about not wanting to go back and do it all over because-,"

"—Actually, that was the _third_ time you proposed," she interrupts with a smirk, "But please continue."

I roll my eyes and suppress my answering laugh. "Third time then," I amend gamely, "Sorry. It's happened so many times that it's hard to keep track."

She giggles and I swear the sound of it gives me life. "Now as I was saying," I begin again, "You were right about not going back. All of the pain and heartbreak and messiness was worth it in the end because it brought us to this moment, Jane. Us, sitting together in my car, listening to Bruno Mars on the radio and singing very badly. This is what I want every day. Forever."

"Really?" she croons sappily.

"Really."

"You know, if I weren't driving right now I would kiss you, Michael Cordero."

"Then pull over and kiss me," I suggest carelessly, favoring her with my most beguiling smile, "What's stopping you?"

She surprises me when she actually does it. She pulls the car off onto the shoulder of the highway, unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs over the gearshift to kiss me breathless.


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty (Jane POV)**

A little more than a week has passed since we dropped the news to Mateo that Michael and I are a couple and things aren't that great. Then again, they aren't quite awful either. Mateo hasn't thrown any massive tantrums since that first night but there is a sullen resentment that punctuates his every action now. If he's expected to do something he doesn't like, he wields his father like a weapon. More than once in the past week he's threatened to "go live with Daddy" in retaliation for something I've said or done. I haven't told him about the baby yet because I can't be sure how he'll react.

He doesn't talk to Michael at all, which might be seen as a gradual improvement given the circumstances but that's really not so great either. The only comfort I take in the entire situation is that I suspect that Mateo doesn't really _want_ to be angry with us. But, he feels like he _should_ be. I have a very good reason for feeling confident in that theory too. I watch my son very carefully when he thinks no one is paying attention.

Mateo is still as fascinated with Michael as ever but now he likes to pretend otherwise. While he no longer asks to see him or call him and he stubbornly gives Michael the silent treatment whenever Michael stops by, I see what Mateo does in secret. I know that he lurks around the corner to listen whenever I talk on the phone with Michael. I can see him watch everything that Michael does whenever he's here, whether that's sitting outside on the porch swing with me talking or playing cards with my dad or repairing Abuela's leaky faucet, Mateo studies Michael's every move.

Coaxing Mateo into thawing his attitude has been a gradual and frustrating process. Just when I think we're beginning to make a tiny bit of headway, he goes to stay with his father for three days and, when he comes back, we have to start all over again. I suspect that he is feeding off of Rafael's resentment and taking it on as his own. I've talked to Rafael numerous times this week about the importance of putting on a brave face for Mateo's sake but his response is always the same. _It's not my responsibility to make it easier for you and Michael to be together. You wanted this? Live with the consequences._

In theory, he has a point. He's not obligated to help Mateo accept my relationship with Michael. But, as a parent, wouldn't you want your child to be in less turmoil since, this is likely going to be their day to day for many years to come? I think, right now, Rafael is too wrapped up in his own pain to think about the damage he could be doing to Mateo and, perhaps, Mateo's disappointment only makes his own feel more acute.

Right now, father and son are equally tied up in the other's feelings so it becomes difficult to separate who feels what. The only time things are even semi-normal is when Michael isn't around. When it's just the three of us spending time together, Rafael is his usual self and he and I have easy conversation. But whenever Michael is involved, he becomes cold and distant and Mateo is clearly picking up on that change and mimicking it.

After a week of dealing with this nonsense, I've decided to mention my concerns to Michael and get his opinion on the matter. He comes outside to join me on the porch swing after spending a good portion of the afternoon installing a ceiling fan in my bedroom. The AC has already sputtered out twice in the last week and, according to Michael, the unit is in the throes of a death rattle and needs to be replaced. He generously offered to put in a ceiling fan as backup while we wait for the new unit to be delivered. I smile at him when he sits down next to me and lean into his body to rest my head on his shoulder.

"How'd it go?" I ask as I take hold of his hand and link my fingers with his.

"Well, it's up and it comes on when you flip the switch," he replies in a tone that is distinctly lacking confidence, "Hopefully it won't fall on your head in the middle of the night."

"Great."

He laughs and nuzzles a kiss to the top of my head and, for a few seconds, we sit there together in contented silence. "So…" he sighs finally, "What time will Rafael be here with Mateo?"

"In about another hour," I reply. Neither of us sound too overjoyed by the prospect but then neither of us will actually admit that aloud either. "What are we going to do about him, Michael?" I sigh wearily, "We can't go on like this."

"It's only been a week," he reasons, "Give him some more time to come around."

"He's never going to do that. As long as Rafael is resentful and angry then Mateo is going to feed off of that and blame you. It's not fair."

"Well, we can't control how Rafael feels. And, honestly, he's entitled to be angry, Jane. If the shoe were on the other foot, I'd be mad as hell. So, give _him_ some time too."

"And what do we do about Mateo in the meantime?" I lament, "I don't want him to turn into Damien from The Omen."

"I don't think it's quite that bad," Michael laughs, "But I do think it's important to set some boundaries with him. Mateo can't just do and say what he wants because he's angry."

I tip my head back to regard him with a knowing smile. "You think I raised a willful brat, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," he replies with surprising candor, "But he's an adorable 'willful brat' and I love him. We'll get through this, Jane. I promise."

"And in the meantime?" I reiterate glumly.

"In the meantime, I think you, me and Mateo should do something together as a family," he suggests, "I honestly think getting things settled with him will help you get past your writer's block."

By now, my inability to write anything feels like one great, big cosmic joke. I waste hours in front of my laptop just waiting for something to strike me but there's nothing that comes. My mind is too preoccupied with other things. Just when I think my life has settled enough for me to _try_ to write, something else happens. But it's not really the timing even. Lately, I haven't felt all that inspired either. Maybe that's because I feel I haven't gotten control of my own life so tackling my character's fictional baggage seems a little daunting. I tell Michael as much.

"So then we should do something together," he reiterates, "Help you get out of your head for a while."

"We've been doing stuff together this whole week. It's not helping, Michael."

"I mean _without_ Rafael," he clarifies, "Mateo is never going to feel free to warm up to me, _if_ he warms up to me at all, with his father around."

I consider his suggestion. The idea does sound promising, especially because it addresses my problem which is Rafael unduly influencing Mateo. However, it is not without challenges. "Rafael would never go for it," I tell Michael.

"I'm not concerned about Rafael right now," he says, "I want to know what _you_ think."

"I think I'd like to," I admit with restrained excitement, "It would be good for the three of us to do something together…as a family."

Michael's face lights up in a boyish smile. "Good, because I've had a really great idea for what we could do together…"

He's literally wiggling in his seat as he tells me his plan. He wants to take Mateo and me to Legoland and Cypress Gardens, Florida, a virtual wonderland for a six year old boy. It's both a theme park with rides and plenty of Lego related activities _and_ it has an attached waterpark as well. There are several packages for us to choose from but the one Michael liked the best involved staying at the park's resort. We sit together on the porch swing with my laptop perched between us and peruse all the different options.

"Seems like they get booked up pretty fast," Michael remarks, "I see something around the beginning of next month that might work for us but I don't know how long the slot will be available."

I read the over the advertisement. All inclusive with the stay the Legoland Beach Resort or Hotel and we would get second day free tickets to both parks, free breakfast and free shuttle rides to _and_ from the park and off site to pre-approved restaurants. We'd have three days to enjoy the sun and fun without having to deal with the hassle of parking or even navigating our way around the city. It sounds like it will be incredible fun but also incredibly expensive.

"We're looking at almost $1000 for a three night stay, not to mention the cost of food and gas to make the trip," I murmur in disbelief, "I don't have that kind of money right now, Michael."

"Don't worry about the money," he tells me, "The date we're proposing to go is more than six weeks from now. We'll get the money somehow, Jane, even if we have to do it on credit. You know Mateo is going to love this. And, truthfully, I'll love it too. You know what a big kid I am! Let's book it."

I'm not immune to his infectious smile of excitement. "Okay. Book it."

The elation I feel at the prospect of telling Mateo our plans and watching his little face light up with anticipation is nothing compared to when I actually _see_ his reaction. Mateo is so excited that he completely drops his façade of hate with Michael. He sits next to him eagerly, practically bouncing with happiness while Michael scrolls through the website on my laptop and shows him all the different attractions that the park offers. Mateo has a running list, that steadily grows by the second, of all the things he wants to see and ride. Even Rafael is reluctantly on board until he learns that he isn't invited.

"So you're proposing that the three of you go off on this trip alone?" he demands, as if I just told him that Michael and I plan to fly with Mateo to the moon. "Oh no. Absolutely not! I can't agree to that."

"Why can't you?" I exclaim in disbelief, "It's three days!"

"I don't want you taking him out of the city."

I'm so infuriated by his tone and the unspoken implication behind that statement that it takes several attempts to draw enough air into my lungs to even speak. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," he maintains in an even tone, as if I'm a child who needs to be reprimanded. "I don't want you to take him out of Miami. He would be in Michael's care for three days and I'm not sure how I feel about that."

From the corner of my eye, I see Michael roll his eyes in response. I'm doing the same thing internally. "You're kidding!" I snort, "Come on, Raf. Michael would _never_ hurt Mateo."

"I don't know that. _You_ might trust him, Jane, but _I_ don't."

"Shouldn't it be enough that I trust him?" I cry in frustration.

"Actually no. I find your judgment becomes severely impaired when it comes to him. Either I make the trip with you or you don't go at all. Those are my feelings about it."

I'm about to let loose on him right then when I suddenly remember that Mateo is sitting right there on the porch swing, absorbing every word we say like a little sponge. I clamp my mouth shut on the scathing retort that would have sprung free. The last thing I want to do is to fight with Rafael in front of him. He has already had his foundation shaken enough. He doesn't need to have a front row seat to his parents being at each other's throats too.

For that reason, I ask Michael if he will take Mateo into the house so that Rafael and I can carry out our argument in private. He is more than willing to do it, easily sensing my present dilemma. But, as always, Mateo is resistant and refuses to go inside with him.

He stomps his small foot in belligerent protest. "I don't want to go in the house with Michael! You can't make me! I want to stay out here with Daddy!"

I pin him with a stern frown. "Mateo Gloriano Rogelio Solano-Villanueva, I know you heard what I said. Get in the house _right now_!"

"Don't yell at him!" Rafael interjects hotly, "And don't punish him because he wants to stay out here with me. If he wants to stay then let him stay."

At this point, Michael, who has been relatively silent throughout the entire exchange, finally loses his temper. Probably because Mateo's tendency to be disrespectful to me is a hot button issue for him. It really grates on him and he's let me know that more than once. "Really, Rafael?" he snaps irritably, "You're going to condone his behavior? You're not going to even _try_ to enforce what Jane told him?"

"I've told you before that this is none of business so butt out!"

"Jane asked him to go inside just now and you know why she did it," Michael hisses in an under-breath, "Why are you undermining her authority with him? It's not right!"

Although, I do my best to soothe him during the exchange, stroking his back, his arm, his shoulder, it really doesn't help. Once the words are spoken they can't be unspoken, not that Michael would have been interested in taking them back anyway. Which is somewhat disappointing because I fear that this will degenerate into yet another brutal fight between them but, this time, Mateo will be present to witness it.

Despite my efforts to hold him back, Rafael steps close so that he's in Michael's face and then reaches over to pull Mateo to against him in a show of parental authority. "If _my_ son wants to stay outside with me then he can do that. Because _I'm_ his father and no one is going to come between us. Got that?"

I watch as Michael curls his hand into a tight fist and I flinch inwardly, preparing myself for the worst but, thankfully, it never comes. Instead, a cool head prevails, and Michael takes a step back from Rafael, wisely retreating from the challenge that's been thrown at him. "I don't want to do this in front of Mateo," he says, "So I'm going to go. But you really need to think about what you're doing to your son…and to his mother."

With Rafael's glittering stare burning into my back, I walk Michael to his car. I don't want him to leave. Not at all. But given the volatile circumstances and his and Rafael's equally volatile past, I think it's the best decision. I know that and he knows that. Still, I can't help but wonder if he's upset because I don't ask him to stay. It turns out, however, that Michael isn't thinking about that at all. Instead, he seems worried about me.

"Are you sure you'll be okay with him?" he asks, his forehead furrowed with concern, "Rafael seems like he's in the mood to pick a fight today."

"He is," I acknowledge, "but I'm not going to let him bait me. Besides, I think he'll be easier to deal with once you leave."

After we finish saying our goodbyes, I return to the porch and find Mateo and Rafael seated together in the swing. The moment Mateo spots me, his hackles go up. "Don't you yell at Daddy," he orders me imperiously, "If I don't want to go to Legoland then I don't have to! I won't go if Daddy doesn't go!"

"I'm not going to discuss this with you," I reply as calmly as I can manage, "Go in the house, Mateo."

"But I don't-,"

"I said _go_. Don't make me tell you again!" There must be something in my expression that warns him not to test me further because he leaps from the swing without another word and darts into the house with a howl of protest. But I can't be concerned about this latest tantrum because I have more pressing matters to address. Once Mateo is safely out of earshot, I turn my wrath on Rafael.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"If you think I'm going to stand by while you try to replace me in Mateo's life, you've miscalculated."

"I'm not trying to replace you, Raf!" I yell in exasperation, "I want to take him to a theme park! I didn't ask you to terminate your parental rights!"

"I'm sure that's next."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Then why don't you want me to go with you?" he charges, "What's up with that?"

"It's an opportunity for _Michael and Mateo_ to bond in a relaxed environment," I say. _Without you hovering over them like a dark specter._ "This is about _them_ , not you!"

"Mateo doesn't want to 'bond' with Michael," Rafael scoffs, "Stop trying to force that. You love him! That doesn't mean Mateo has to!"

"See, that's the thing," I counter in a thoughtful tone, "I think he does. Mateo loves Michael whether he will admit that or not. The only reason he's pushing him away is because he thinks it will hurt _you_!"

"If that's what you need to tell yourself."

I have to stamp down the urge to growl in aggravation. "I thought you said that you could accept me and Michael together."

"And I'm _trying_ to do that. I don't have very many options where that's concerned. But Mateo? He is _my_ child and I am not losing another person to Michael Cordero! Be with him if you want but I will be damned if he parents my son!"

He's being irrational right now and overly emotional but I cannot in good conscience say that his feelings are not valid. If the roles were reversed and Rafael had become involved with some woman who felt she had the right to make parenting decisions regarding Mateo, I would be livid. Heads would roll and asses would be kicked, especially Rafael's for condoning such a thing. So I can sympathize with how he must feel. I can understand and accept the resentment he has toward me. There's just one thing…it's not quite the same.

Michael has been in Mateo's life since before he was even born. He rescued Mateo when he was kidnapped. He is my son's godfather, formerly his stepfather. There is a wealth of history there. Before Michael "died," he, Rafael and I were co-parenting Mateo together. Granted, Michael has been MIA for the past five years so many things have changed but the situation between us basically remains the same. Given that, I don't understand why Rafael has such a problem with it now and I say so.

"Because _we_ were supposed to get married this time, Jane!" he cries, " _We_ were supposed to be a family. _We_ were supposed to have more kids, be that biologically or otherwise! This 'family' trip that you're planning with Michael should have been ours! I know you've moved on from that but I haven't."

It hits me then in hindsight. Yes, Rafael said that he would work on accepting my relationship with Michael and yes, he acknowledged that we would all be a family but right now, right this second, he is still struggling. Rafael has yet to let go. It's not wonder he can't accept the idea of Michael parenting Mateo. He can't even come to grips with the fact that he and I are over.

When he finally leaves, I am emotionally and physically spent. I would gladly slink into my room, close the door and hide under my bedcovers for the rest of eternity but that isn't an option. I still have Mateo to deal with. Preparing myself for a fight, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders and head for his room.

I find him sitting in the middle of his floor, playing with a Lego action figure. In an instant, I feel wistful seeing him play make believe, so I simply lean into the doorframe and watch him. He's so engrossed in his playtime that he doesn't even realize I'm standing there until I speak.

"We can still go if you want," I tell him softly.

Unfortunately, the second I say the words he quickly drops the toy and crosses his arms. The expression on his face is mutinous. "I don't want to go," he proclaims, "I don't even like Legos anymore."

"But I just saw you playing."

"I already told you that I don't like them anymore!" he shouts angrily.

And then, for good measure, he picks up the block figurine and throws it against the wall as hard as he can. The pieces splinter apart upon impact and fly into all four corners of his room. I can tell that the instant he does it, he regrets the action because he bites his lower lip to stop it from quivering. Still, he puts up an incredible front of pretending not to care.

I decide to call his bluff. "Well, if that's how you feel…" I say, stooping to collect the scattered Legos, "…I'll just throw this out for you."

I'm not even within a foot of the trash can before he yells, "NO!" and comes running to rescue the pieces from my clutches. I regard him with a deep scowl. "I don't like this behavior, Mateo, and it needs to stop. _Right now_."

"Well, I don't like your behavior either!" he flings back, "You hurt Daddy's feelings and you didn't say you were sorry!"

The accusation shocks me into silence because it's so full of heartfelt indignance. "Is that what your dad told you?" I ask finally. He jerks a nod. "And that's why you're mad at me right now?" Another nod.

"You _and_ Michael," he stresses angrily, "You lied and you didn't say you were sorry."

I already know why he thinks I've been dishonest but I can't imagine what Michael has done to earn his mistrust. "What did Michael lie about?"

"He told me that he was just your friend," Mateo recounts huffily, "But Daddy says that Michael wanted to marry you the whole time. He tricked me."

When he starts to cry then, at last deflated of anger, I quickly move to pull him into my arms and hold him tight. He doesn't push me away. Instead, he throws his arms around my waist and weeps bitterly into my abdomen. And, in that moment, I see him for what he is. Not a disrespectful, disobedient brat but a confused, scared little boy who feels betrayed by the people he trusted most. I do my best to comfort him.

"That's not what happened, baby," I croon gently, "Michael didn't know he was going to have feelings for me and I didn't know either. It just happened. He didn't trick you. He would never do that. He loves you so much."

He lifts his teary face and looks up at me. I can tell that he wants to believe me. He wants to forgive me and he wants to forgive Michael. But I also know the reason why he can't. He thinks doing so would be disloyalty to his father, especially at a time when he perceives that no one is on Rafael's side. When I ask him if that is how he feels, however, I'm still surprised when he confirms my suspicion.

"He's sad. You broke his heart, Mommy, and he's all alone."

"I know that must hurt, Mateo, and you have to know that I would _never_ want to hurt Daddy like that. I know how it feels to have a broken heart because I had one when Michael was gone."

"I remember," he mumbles sullenly, "You cried a lot and it made me sad too…just like it makes me sad for Daddy."

"I understand. You're a sweet, compassionate little boy. Of course, you would sympathize with your father's pain and you should," I tell him, "But I want you to remember something. Broken hearts don't always stay broken. My heart healed and your daddy's will too."

"Okay," he sniffles but without much conviction.

I crouch down so that we are eye to eye when I say my next words. "Mateo, it's okay for you to feel happy. You can be excited about going to Legoland. That doesn't make you a bad person." I'm silent for a beat before I add, "And it's okay if you like Michael. It's okay if you love him."

"Do you love Michael more than you love me?" he asks me in a suffocated little voice.

For a split second after he asks that question all I can feel is rage. I have never given Mateo the impression that he comes second to Michael. Perhaps, in the beginning, when I had been distracted and distraught after learning Michael was alive but never since then. So I can easily deduce where he might have gotten that idea. But, for the time being, I set aside my anger to give my son the reassurance he needs.

"I do not love Michael more than you. I don't love anyone more than you, Mr. Sweetface."

"But you love him more than Daddy, don't you?"

"No. Not more, Mateo, just differently," I explain carefully, "What I feel for your father and what I feel for Michael are two entirely separate things. They're not the same so you can't compare them."

"Is that because you want to marry Michael?"

"Yes. There are things that I want to have with Michael that I don't want to have with your dad."

"Things like what?"

The question leaves me momentarily speechless as I search for a way to explain the difference between romantic love and familial love to him. Finally, I say, "When I married Michael a long time ago, it was because I wanted to be with him every day. Before Daddy was my best friend, _Michael_ was my best friend and nobody made me as happy as he did…except you, Mr. Sweetface. And that hasn't changed. He still makes me happy and I want to be with him for the rest of my life. He is very important to me and you are very important to me. I want you to get along with each other. So, do you think you could give him a chance? For me? Please."

He doesn't seem especially thrilled by the prospect but he doesn't reject my request either. Instead he replies with a disgruntled, "Okay, Mommy. I'll think about it."

Later that night, after baths have been given, bedtime stories have been read and evening coffee with Abuela is done, I throw on my pajamas and finally crawl into bed, thankful that the day is done. Once I'm settled, I pick up my phone and dial Michael. He answers on the first ring. I smile the instant I hear his voice.

"So how did it go?" he asks in lieu of hello.

"What? You can't say 'hi' first?" I tease him.

"Hi," he says compliantly before veering right back to his original question. "Was Rafael a dick to you?" Though he does his best to sound neutral I can still detect the undercurrent of "I'll kick his ass if he was," beneath his words.

"He was exactly how I expected him to be," I reply with a dismissive air, "But that's not important. I think I might have had a breakthrough with Mateo tonight."

"Oh yeah?"

"He admitted that he's angry with you because he thinks you lied to him about only wanting to be friends with me. He feels like you tricked him."

"I did actually."

The guilt in his voice is palpable and it breaks my heart to hear it. "No, you didn't."

"Does it matter either way? In the end, he still feels like I deceived him and I _did_ tell him that I wouldn't come between you and Rafael."

I frown at the admission. "When did you tell him that?"

"During that camping trip that you and Rafael crashed…you remember, the one from hell," he says, pausing only briefly when I choke out a spurt of laughter in response, "He was worried that you guys might break up because you were fighting and he was confused about why. I told him the truth, that you were fighting because of me."

"Ahh. Now, I see."

"He wanted to know where I stood with you and I told him that all I wanted was friendship, which turned out to be a lie."

"Oh. Well, it's no wonder you told him that. You were working overtime to convince me and yourself that it was the truth. Frankly, you were a real jackass to me back then."

"Thanks."

I giggle at his hilariously derisive tone. "You've improved a lot since then though."

He grunts a short laugh but his good humor feels much too brief because his next words to me sound grim and heavy with resignation. "I suppose I should go ahead and cancel those reservations we made this afternoon," he remarks, "I doubt Rafael is going to get onboard with it and we don't want to aggravate him anymore than he already is."

"Probably not," I agree, "But I still want to go anyway."

I can practically envision him doing a doubletake at his phone and it makes me laugh. "You…you do? Did I just hear you right?"

"Yes. It will be good for us and it will be good for Mateo too. So, keep the reservation, Michael, because we are going on a family vacation whether Rafael is onboard with that or not."


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-One (Michael POV)**

"Are you nervous?"

Jane's sudden question startles me. I turn my blind stare away from the open parenting magazine in my lap and look towards Jane who is watching me with a curious smile. "Baby? Are you okay?" she asks me, "You look pale. You don't have to go back with me if you don't want to."

That reassurance is probably the last thing I need to hear. There's really no good way to tell your pregnant girlfriend that you're suddenly having a panic attack over the prospect of becoming a father. It's especially not a good time to do so when she's minutes away from being called back for her latest pre-natal appointment. It's especially, _especially_ not good when she invited you along thinking you'd want to share the experience with her.

And she's not wrong. I _do_ want to share the experience with her. So much that I can barely contain the emotion threatening to burst out of me. But, I am also scared shitless. It has finally, truly hit me that we are bringing an actual human being into the world and we will be responsible for shaping its entire existence. I just nailed down a routine for myself. How the hell am I supposed to know what a _baby_ needs?

Certainly I could consider Mateo to be my practice run into fatherhood but that's never really been the case because I've never actually been a _father_ to him…at least, not in Jane or Rafael's eyes. Playmate, fun "uncle" and caregiver for sure but father has never been an apt description because that position was already filled by Rafael. No others need apply.

Perhaps that's the reason that I've only recently come to feel the full weight of responsibility and what it means to mold Mateo into the person that he needs to become because that had always been primarily Jane and Rafael's job. And while I've always considered it my responsibility to protect him and keep him safe, the prospect of actually parenting him, complete with teaching, guidance and discipline has never been an invitation that was handed to me. I'm not sure that it's something Jane has even considered.

Sure, I've made suggestions to Jane and I haven't been shy about voicing my opinions but I've rarely overstepped when it came to disciplining Mateo because there is a part of me that doesn't feel like it's my place. Rafael definitely seems to think so. But, as far as I'm concerned, Mateo needs _a lot_ of discipline. He's practically crying out for it and I recognize that need acutely. Sometimes, I can see reflections of my younger self in Mateo. I can understand him perfectly because I too had been something of a problem child in my youth. But what I had needed back then hadn't been complete autonomy. Instead, I'd needed boundaries and structure to keep me safe.

Just like a traffic light can protect motorists and pedestrians alike if they obey the law, a child's respect of parental law can protect them too. I read that somewhere once and I fully believe it's true. Jane and Rafael's freehand approach of allowing _Mateo_ to dictate his needs just isn't working for me. He's six years old and they're basically letting him drive so to speak. It's crazy!

But who am I to tell Jane and Rafael how to raise their child? They've been doing this for five years already and, until very recently, I didn't have any children of my own so my parenting advice means squat. What could I possibly tell them that they didn't already know? In fact, they could probably teach _me_ a few things. The more I think about that, the more inadequate I feel regarding my place with Mateo _and_ Jane's pregnancy.

The fear is all encompassing and I feel guilty that it's even there. I certainly don't want Jane to think that I have reservations about doing this with her because I don't. I want a family with her more than anything. I've spent almost a third of my lifetime dreaming about this day. But I can't keep myself from worrying about whether I'm qualified to be a father or if I'll even be good at it, though it seems far too late to obsess about that now. Jane is pregnant and the baby is coming regardless of whether or not I feel ready. The only thing I can do is try to reassure Jane, even when I don't feel reassured myself.

Unable to look her in the eyes when I bluff my way through, I rub my perspiring palms on the legs of my trousers and try my hardest to calm down. "No. I'm fine," I brazen, "Why do you ask?"

"You've been jiggling your knee for the last ten minutes," she points out dryly, "And I know you haven't read a single line in that magazine. You haven't turned the page once." I look at her sharply, somewhat unsettled to discover she read me so easily and so fast. My poker face definitely needs work. "There's no reason to be nervous, Michael." She grabs my hand and squeezes it gently. "It's just a routine, pre-natal checkup."

For her maybe. She's had a couple of visits already since she learned of the pregnancy. Not to mention the loads of experience she had while pregnant with Mateo. But this is my first OBGYN appointment _ever_ and I have no idea what to expect. According to Jane, this checkup will be nothing out of the ordinary. She tells me that they will check her blood pressure and weight, obtain a urine sample and determine whether or not the baby is developing within the expected parameters (whatever that means) and finally, they will listen to the baby's heart.

To me, it sounds like a lot for a "routine" checkup and I'm concerned. I can't help but wonder about all of the tests and I have a million questions. What should her blood pressure be and what is considered too high or too low? What are they monitoring by checking her weight every visit? Why does she need to provide a urine sample? And how do they know how the baby is growing and developing without doing an ultrasound each time? Is growth related to the baby's heart development? Is that why they listen?

Maybe it's the investigator in me but, I need the answers. Unfortunately, asking Jane is a fruitless pursuit because she doesn't have the answers either. Nor does she seem particularly bothered by that fact either. I emit a tiny grunt of frustration. From the corner of my eye, I can see Jane squinting at me thoughtfully.

"Michael, you're not going to badger my OB with those questions, are you?"

"Well, it's not like you can help me. And, for the record, I find your use of the word 'badger' highly offensive." She growls my name. "What?" I ask, blinking at her wide-eyed, "I want to know. What's the harm in asking?"

"Is it really that important that you're willing to interrogate my OBGYN?"

"I'm not going to interrogate her, Jane. And yes, it's important to me. All of this is important to me. I've never had a baby before. I want to be prepared."

I half expect her to lose her patience with me and I wouldn't blame her if she did. I am being a little ridiculous and I know it. But far from going into a complete rant over how aggravating I am, Jane smiles at me instead. "God, I love you," she sighs, reaching up to cup my cheek with wistful affection, "And I love that you're taking this so seriously. It's really adorable." I grumble at that description but give way to smiling myself when she says, "You can ask my doctor all the questions you want."

I wonder if she regrets extending that invitation later because I do ask all the questions I want and, miraculously, Dr. Sarah Benton does not kick me out of the exam room. In fact, my endless questions don't seem to fluster her in the least. She patiently explains to me the rationale behind each procedure and test. She speaks in depth about urine protein, the risks of pre-eclampsia and associated complications as well as the significance of fundus height. Quite honestly, most of it goes over my head but the fact she is willing to humor me is enough to greatly reduce my anxiety. By the time she's ready to assess the baby's heartrate I am almost completely relaxed.

Filled with nervous excitement, I take hold of Jane's hand and hold it sandwiched between my own while Dr. Benton turns on the doppler. I watch intently as the doctor rolls something that very much resembles an upside down microphone across the surface of Jane's lower abdomen, searching and searching until she finally finds what she's been chasing. And then I hear it.

A rapid, low pitched whirring sound that fills the entire room. At first, I don't know what to make of it but then I see the smile that brightens Jane's face and I know immediately what it is. I feel my own heart expand and creep up into my throat.

"That's the heartbeat?" I ask and I don't even recognize my own voice because it's so garbled with emotion.

"That's the heartbeat," Dr. Benton confirms proudly, "Healthy and strong."

I listen closely to the sound, carefully. "Wow. It sounds so fast."

"148 beats per minute to be exact," Dr. Benton tells me.

I blink at her in stunned concern. "Is…is that okay?" I stammer, "That's not normal, is it?" I don't have an extensive medical background or even a cursory one but I _do_ know that a normal heartrate is anywhere between 60 and 100 beats per minute. At 148, my kid is way outside of the normal range and the knowledge leaves me panicked. When I express my worry to Dr. Benton, however, her response is calm and matter-of-fact.

"You're right, Mr. Cordero. A normal heartrate is 60 to 100 beats per minute… _for an adult_. However, the fetal heartrate can range anywhere between 120 and 160 beats per minutes, so 148 is perfectly normal. In fact, your child won't have anything close to what you consider a 'normal' heartrate until he or she is a least 7 or 8 years old."

"Oh wow," I breathe, my head fairly pounding with all this new information, "Why is that?"

"Children have faster metabolisms. Growing requires a lot of energy, Mr. Cordero."

Jane squeezes my hand in a bid for attention. I look down at her smiling face. "Have you asked enough questions now?" she teases.

"Yeah…I think I'm satisfied."

As Jane and I walk back to my car following her appointment, I'm still giddy over everything I've learned. Dr. Benton was good enough to send me home with several pamphlets and even recommended several books I could read to prepare. Jane giggles at me in unconcealed amusement as I go on and on about each new discovery. But when I actually start researching how to parenting guides with the search tool on my phone before cranking up the car to get us out of there, she laughs at me outright.

I glance over at her in expectation. "What's so funny?"

"You are. You remind me of how I was before Mateo was born."

"I guess it's similar," I acknowledge softly, "This is my first baby after all."

Her smile falters slightly with the reminder. "I always forget you weren't there for Mateo the whole time. It always _feels_ like you were."

"But I wasn't. I missed practically your entire pregnancy and the first 8 months of his life."

My answer causes her to drop her eyes to her lap. She nibbles her lip, a sure sign that she's thinking about something deeply. "Does…does it bother you that you missed all of that time with me?"

I'm surprised that I don't have a ready answer for the question but, that's probably because we've never discussed it before. We've talked about why I had difficulty handling the pregnancy and how I felt about her relationship with Rafael but we've never talked about whether I felt robbed of experiencing all of those new discoveries with her. Truly, this is the first time I've really thought about my feelings during that time beyond the anger and hurt I felt over the loss of our relationship.

Finally, after I've had a few moments to reflect, I answer her. "I guess there was a part of me that was sad because I wasn't able to share all of those changes with you," I admit to her, "But that's more of a hindsight realization. When I was going through it that was about the only good thing I thought had come out of our breakup."

"Because you didn't want to raise Mateo," she concludes sadly.

"Because I didn't know if I did and I didn't know what my place would be in his life," I clarify, "Rafael deserved the chance to bond with you and Mateo without me being in the way and I'm glad he had that."

Jane glances at me in surprise, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Do you really mean that, Michael?"

"I think I finally know what he was feeling back then…because that's exactly how I feel right now, about you and about our baby."

"Aww," she murmurs tearfully before leaning across to kiss me, "You have to stop saying things like that. I can't keep ripping your clothes off in public."

I laugh against her lips. "I'm not complaining."

"You shouldn't worry so much," she advises me gently, framing my face in her hands for emphasis, "I've seen you with Mateo, Michael. I know you're going to be a great father. You've got this."

"I hope so," I reply, uncertainty still tangible in my words when I pull away, "But I want to cover all of my bases. That's why I called and told my mom about the baby. I was so desperate for advice that I was even willing to put up with her disapproval to get it."

Jane blinks at me in astonishment. "You told her?" I confirm with a nod. "And how did she react?"

"With an odd mixture of elation and reserve," I answer honestly. But I clarify further when Jane frowns, plainly confused by the description of my mother's response. "I think she's happy to become a grandmother but not so happy that you're her future grandchild's mother."

"Of course."

"She thinks that I should work out a formal custody agreement with you so that we have an arrangement in place when our relationship 'goes South.' Her words, not mine."

"Wow…her confidence is our longevity as a couple is overwhelming," Jane mutters derisively, "I'm surprised she didn't suggest you sue me for full custody." I glance away quickly but not quickly enough that Jane can't read the truth on my face. "Oh my God! She did! She told you to sue me for full custody of the baby?"

"Not for the reasons you think!"

"You mean beyond thinking I'm a heinous bitch who's not fit to raise her grandchild or be with her son?"

"I just think she doesn't have much confidence in your skills as a mother," I explain hesitantly.

"What?"

"Because of Mateo and his…um…behavioral issues."

"Excuse me? Mateo is a typical six-year old boy! He just has poor impulse control."

"And children with poor impulse control become teenagers with poor impulse control who grow up into adults with poor impulse control…which is _not_ a good thing," I reply meaningfully, "I spent my career as a police officer arresting adults just like that. What happens when he gets a girlfriend or eventually becomes a husband or a father? Do you see where I'm going with this, Jane?"

"Are you saying that you agree with your mom?" she gasps, clearly insulted, "You think I'm a bad mother? You think I've done a poor job of raising Mateo?"

"Of course not! You're an outstanding mother and I know you want the best for Mateo. But I definitely think that he could use a firmer hand. You and Rafael are far too permissive with him," I tell her.

"What's that supposed to mean? If you're talking about spanking him, that will _never_ happen. I fail to understand how I'm supposed to teach Mateo not to hit by hitting him."

"It doesn't have to be spanking," I'm quick to reassure her. I'm finding that now that I've opened the gates, I'm not inclined to hold back a single thought at all. "Baby, I know you want what's best for Mateo but, he needs to feel the consequences of his actions, something more long-term than a lecture.

"Whether that's losing his privileges or being given extra chores, Mateo needs clear boundaries set for him," I continue sternly, "And you need to stop justifying his bad behavior. It shouldn't matter what his reasons are for acting out or even if he's justified because it's not acceptable behavior. He needs to be disciplined when he crosses the line, not excused."

"I _do_ set boundaries for Mateo," she argues, visibly offended by my mini-tirade, "But he is still a little boy. He is only just beginning to discover the world and his place in it. I don't want to stifle his imagination and growth, Michael, and I don't want him to think that he's not allowed to _feel_ emotion and react accordingly."

"What if you were growing a tomato?" I ask her suddenly.

As expected, she looks at me as if she thinks I've lost my mind. "What? A tomato? How is that relevant right now?"

"Well, when you're growing a tomato plant, you have to sort of fence it in so that you can direct the growth of the vine," I explain, "Otherwise, if you don't, the plant will grow everywhere and you'll have a mess on your hands."

"How do you know this stuff?"

"You know my mother is an avid gardener. So, you can guess how I spent every spring of my life until I reached middle school. The point is…do you understand how my analogy applies to Mateo?"

She nods. "You're saying that I need to 'fence' Mateo in so that I can direct his healthy growth."

" _We_ need to do that. Exactly."

"I get what you're saying," she groans indecisively, "But I don't want him to feel boxed in, Michael."

"It's not 'boxing him in' to teach him that it's inappropriate to yell at you or disobey you because he doesn't want to do what you've asked him. He can be upset but he still has to respect you," I reason firmly, "I'm not saying that we should have a 'do as I say because I said it' approach because that doesn't work either. My dad took that approach with me and Billy and we were miserable because of it."

"So then what are you suggesting?"

"I think there's a middle ground somewhere. We just have to figure out what that is. But I think it would help him if _we_ model the behavior we want him to emulate."

"And you're saying I haven't done that?"

"I'm saying that I don't think Mateo would feel so free to walk all over you if he didn't see that same behavior in some others." I don't mention Rafael by name but I don't need to because she knows exactly to whom I am referring. Her hackles raise immediately.

"Okay, first of all, Mateo does not 'walk all over me' and neither does Rafael for that matter!" she snaps, "Where are you even getting this?"

"I only know what I see, Jane."

"And you're basing that off _one_ frame of time out of five years of experience without taking into account that all of us have been under the greatest stress of our lives!" she cries, "That's hardly fair when you haven't seen the whole picture!"

"So you're saying you don't see a problem with Mateo?"

"No. I don't. Why do we need to change anything?" she laments, "Mateo is fine, Michael. He hasn't been acting out so much lately _and_ he's been less rude to you in the last couple of days. I think we're making progress."

"It's not about how he is with me," I argue, "It's doesn't feel great that he resents me but I'm a big boy. I can handle that. What I _can't_ handle is the way he talks to you and I don't want _our_ baby to learn that type of behavior secondhand."

I know instantly that it's the wrong thing to say but it's too late to take the words back. Jane is already pissed. "So now you're saying you think Mateo will be a bad influence?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all," I rush out, "I think Mateo is a good kid with a good heart and I love him but there are certain traits of his that I don't want affecting the baby. Right now, he mostly takes his frustration out on me and you but what happens when he gets angry with the baby? What if he lashes out or throws things at our child, Jane? What then?"

"Are you kidding me with this right now, Michael?"

"Something has to change. Mateo needs something more than 'bad weather days' to keep him in check!"

"Now you're criticizing my system?" she gasps, "With all due respect, Michael, you're not really in a position to give me advice on parenting when you don't know the first thing about it! You've been back in Mateo's life all of _two minutes_ so please stop acting like you're the expert on _my_ child! I will raise him how _I_ see fit and if I want your advice then I'll ask for it!"

The outburst stings like a slap in the face. At first, I'm too stunned to speak. And then I realize that there's nothing for me to say because she has a point. I'm not a parent. I haven't been in Mateo's life very long. And, just because we're in a relationship, that doesn't mean I get to weigh in on how to raise him. She never asked me for my counsel so it was a bit presumptuous of me to offer it. She hasn't said so to me directly but, it is clearly how she feels.

"You're right. I'm sorry," I say, "Mateo is _your_ son. It wasn't my place to say anything."

Her anger abruptly melts away into regret and I can only imagine it's because I'm not as good at masking my hurt feelings as I would have liked. "God, Michael…you know I didn't mean it like that."

At this point, I don't even want to discuss it. I finally crank the car ignition after 15 minutes of arguing. "I'll take you home."

Contrition is stamped all over her face as she regards me. "But…but I thought we were supposed to have lunch together."

"I'm not that hungry after all," I reply gruffly, shaking my head, "Besides, I have to be at work in an hour anyway."

We make the remainder of the drive in silence and the entire time I am stewing. I'm angry with myself for bringing up the subject of discipline in the first place. I should have known that it would bite me in the ass. But I'm also angry at Jane for shutting me down and for, inadvertently, confirming my worst fear. I'm _never_ going to be anything more than a glorified babysitter in her eyes when it comes to Mateo. She's raising him and I'm merely assisting but she doesn't really want my input. There is a measure of comfort in finally knowing where she stands but it's hard to appreciate that underneath all the hurt and disappointment I'm feeling.

After I drop her off at home, rebuffing all of her attempts to reopen communication between us, I head off to work. My new partner, Ryan Sisquo, has the misfortune of having to deal with my foul mood for the better part of the afternoon and into the evening while we're out in the field. To his credit, he's a pretty even keeled guy and is seemingly unaffected by most things, most notably my surly attitude.

I suppose that comes with being in his mid to late-fifties, married for nearly 40 years with three kids and four grandkids. I know all of this, not because he told me, but because I insisted that the captain do an extensive background check before assigning him as my partner. I've been burned one too many times by Sin Rostro plants and I wasn't going to take a blind chance that Sisquo checked out. He didn't seem bothered by that, however. Honestly, Ryan Sisquo rarely seems to be bothered by much.

Sometimes his ability to remain calm in all situations really irks me and I will do things to purposely get under his skin. So far, I haven't succeeded once. Still, I recognize that his easy going nature is a good and needed contrast to my sometimes focused intensity. It's nice to have a partner who can get me out of my own head every now and again. And one who doesn't take my bullshit disposition personally.

Later that night near the end of our shift, I'm sitting at my desk looking through case files and silently brooding when a Snickers abruptly comes flying cross my desk, missing the tip of my nose by a hair. Startled, I pick up the candy bar and glance up to find Sisquo leaned against his desk, arms crossed with an irreverent smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. I frown at him.

"What the hell was that for?

He shrugs, quite unaffected by my grumpiness. "You're not you when you're hungry, Cordero."

I grunt a laugh and throw the candy aside. "Bite me, Sisquo."

"No seriously. Eat something. You've been an asshole all day and I know you didn't eat lunch _or_ dinner. I figured you're hangry."

"I'm not hangry. I'm frustrated."

He perks up with an interested expression. "Oh yeah? Is it about this case we're working or the upcoming Sin Rostro trial?"

My connection with Sin Rostro isn't a secret to anyone in the department. They know exactly what she did to me and why and they also know how much I want to see her pay for her crimes, most especially against my brother. Really, they are just as invested in her new sentencing hearing as I am. But the prospect of Rose Solano's impending trial isn't bothering me and neither is work.

The case we were currently working is a lock for evidence and conviction is imminent. And Rose…her trial is little more than a formality at this point since there is mounds of evidence that points to her guilt. With the promise of immunity and protection on the table, there have been several witnesses who have come forward to give the lowdown on her dirty deeds. But it is the kidnapping, torture and attempted murder of a police officer that is going to ultimately undo her. She actually faces the death penalty for what she did to me since capital punishment remains legal in the state of Florida.

"It's neither," I tell my partner before returning to my work, "I just want to be left alone."

Unfortunately, Ryan Sisquo does not take the hint. "So if it's not the case and it's not Sin Rostro, then what is it?" he wonders aloud, "You having relationship issues?" There must be a flicker of betrayal on my face because he smiles and pulls up a chair close to my desk. "Tell me what's up, kid," he invites gamely, "We're partners. We should be able to tell each other everything."

"I've only known you for 32 days, Sisquo. I'm not big on trust right now."

"That's enough time to confide in someone. People do it with priests and they barely even know them."

I spare him a cursory glance as I thumb through a snack of crime scene photos. "Are you a priest?"

"Nope. But I'm a good listener."

"Will you drop it?"

"No," he replies succinctly, "You're miserable and frankly it's not pleasant being around you. We have another two hours left in our shift and if I'm going to get through it without throttling you to death, I'm going to need you to talk to me."

"Fine. If it will get you to leave me alone so I can work, I'll tell you!" I huff in exasperation, giving up all pretense at case review at that point, "My girlfriend has a son from a previous relationship and I'm trying to figure out where I fit in with them."

"You don't like the kid?"

"No. I _love_ the kid. He's…he's everything. It's because of him that I even _considered_ the possibility of fatherhood. But he's a handful."

"Is his dad around?"

"Yeah, he's around. He and Jane have this really relaxed parenting style and I don't think that's what Mateo needs."

"But you can't really say anything about it because he's their kid," Sisquo surmises knowingly, "I'm picking up what you're putting down, Cordero."

"Well, I _did_ say something. Today, in fact. And it blew up in my face. Now I wish I hadn't said anything at all."

"No. It was a good thing. Keep trying," he counsels me softly.

I blink at him incredulously. "Excuse me? Didn't you hear what I just told you? It. Blew. Up."

"I did hear you. And my advice still stands. Are you interested in being right or what's best for that kid?"

"I want what's best for him. I love him like my own."

"Then keep fighting for him. If you're getting pushback from the girlfriend and the father, let them know why you're doing it," he says, "You and I have seen enough misguided teenagers run through this station after screwing up their lives to hell because their parents weren't firm enough. Don't let that happen to your kid too."

 _My kid_. I really like the sound of that. It surprises me. And I recognize then just why Jane's outburst earlier had hurt me so much. Because I _do_ feel like Mateo is my son. I don't want to stifle his creativity or stunt his growth anymore than she does. But I want him to be prepared for the real world and how brutal it can be. I want him to have the coping skills to deal with the sudden twists and turns that will come his way. I want him to live the best life possible because he's _my_ child too. And when I'm suggesting discipline and correction for him, it's not because I'm panning her skills as a mother. It's because I want to help mold the person Mateo will one day become…as any father would want to.

When I leave the station house that night I have every intention of driving straight over to Jane's to tell her all of that but that plan proves to be unnecessary in the end. She's already waiting for me when I reach my car. I stop in my tracks when I see her leaning casually against my hood.

"Hey," I say softly.

"Hey," she says back, "So I was a real jerk to you before."

"No. I was the jerk. I came off judgmental and preachy and that wasn't my intention, Jane."

"No, you were right and I knew you were right. That's why I lashed out. You weren't saying anything that I hadn't already thought about myself."

"Really?"

"I guess now we know who modeled that bad behavior for Mateo," she grunts.

"I don't believe that."

"It's true. And the reason I'm so sensitive about you criticizing my parenting skills is because I _do_ feel like I am a bad parent," she confesses emotionally, "Whatever issues Mateo is having now, that is on me. He's acting this way because of me…because I've always been too wrapped up in my own feelings."

"What are you talking about?"

"After you 'died,' it felt like I died too. I didn't care about anything. I didn't want to get out of bed or go to work or write…or be a mother. I had no interest in him at all."

I move forward to pull her against me as she starts to cry. "Cut yourself some slack, Jane. You were grieving."

She fists her hands into my jacket, holding on to me tightly as if she fears I might evaporate in her arms. "I know. And everyone tells me that Mateo is well adjusted and that period in his life didn't affect him adversely but I still wonder," she sniffles, "I look at Petra and the girls and how well behaved they are and I wonder what I'm doing wrong."

"Nothing," I whisper, "You're not doing anything wrong! You can't compare Mateo to Anna and Elsa. They're like Stepford children. It's creepy."

"Michael, stop it. I know you think Mateo is a terrible child," she sniffles, "You told me you were scared he was going to hurt the baby."

"That's not what I meant," I sigh into her hair, "I don't think that Mateo would ever do anything purposely to harm the baby but he does act out and that concerns me…but it's not for the reason you think."

Jane tips her head back to regard me with wet eyes. "It's not?"

"I'm worried about him, Jane. I know from personal experience just how much life can suck. So does Rafael. So do you," I say, "Life is tough and you can't always chuck something across the room when you're frustrated. Mateo needs to learn that."

"I know that. We always remind him to use his words."

"Yes. But there also has to be consequences when he doesn't…I mean besides storm cloud stickers."

She chokes out a teary giggle before her features crease in a stern frown. "But I don't want to spank him, Michael. That's not an option for me."

"I'm not saying that it should be," I reassure her, "But maybe we should start explaining to him why it's important for him to control his temper. It can't just be about punishment. He needs to see how his actions can affect others adversely. Sometimes, when you act out in anger, you can't fix what goes wrong with 'I'm sorry.' Believe me, I learned that truth the hard way."

"You're right. I'll work on that with him."

" _We'll_ work on that," I correct gently, "He's my son too, you know."

"Oh, Michael…"

"I'm not trying to take Rafael's place in his life. I could _never_ do that but…I want to be a father to him, Jane. If we're going to raise him together then let's do that. Let's raise him _together_. Can you agree to that?" I don't realize I'm holding my breath waiting for her answer until she speaks and, when she does, I feel silly for ever being worried in the first place.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

She cradles my face in her hands and brings me down for her kiss. " _Yes._ "


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Two (Jane POV)**

"You ready to get out of here, Mr. Sweetface?"

That moniker is a misnomer at the moment because my dear son looks anything but sweet. Mr. Sourface would be much more appropriate. You would think Mateo would be far more excited about the prospect of spending the next three days in theme/waterpark fun but, instead, he is very subdued. Correction, he is more annoyed right now than subdued.

"I don't want Michael to take me to Legoland!" he whines petulantly, "I want Daddy to do it! I want my Daddy right now!"

"Well, it was Michael's idea that we go, so he's going to take us."

"I said no! No! No! No! NO!"

"Mateo, what did we talk about?" I remind him calmly, "Am I yelling at you?" He gives a mutinous shake of his head. "Then why are you yelling at me? We can't have a conversation if you're being this way."

"But I want to have a conversation!" he wails in his most plaintive voice, "Please don't stop talking to me, Mommy! I hate it! I hate it when you don't talk to me!"

"Then you know what you have to do."

We've been trying this method for the last several weeks. Whenever Mateo becomes temperamental and starts yelling, I calmly bring to his attention that I am not yelling and, therefore, I expect him to speak to me without yelling. If that isn't enough to snap him back to his senses then I tell him that the conversation is over and then I will not speak to him again until he is able to address me in a more rational manner. In the beginning, it had been a test to my resolve because the resulting silent treatment would only make him more frustrated. He would scream and cry and pitch a fit and sometimes even break things and I would simply walk away.

I would go to my room or I would go outside but I would cut myself off from him, even though it destroyed me because I knew it was hurting him, until he calmed down. Eventually, he would seek me out with apologies and pleas for me to not to be mad and I would always forgive him. But I would also stress to him what he had done wrong and how he could do better the next time. And then, depending on the results of his tantrum, I would make him clean up whatever mess had resulted in the interim and some privileges would be lost for a short while.

And gradually, gradually Mateo began to act out less and less. He is still struggling to accept the new relationship Michael and I have and he continues to feed off of his father's bitterness but, for the most part, I feel as though I'm making headway. Mateo is still far from being angelic. He'll never be a carbon copy of Ellie and Anna but, he's not so much the hellion he'd once been either. Improvement in baby steps. Like now.

Mateo takes a deep, even breath and apologizes to me without prompting. "I didn't mean to yell at you but I am upset," he relays to me solemnly.

It's difficult but I manage to keep from smiling at how grown up he sounds. "Why are you upset, baby?"

"I don't want to go to Legoland with Michael."

"But why not? Don't you think it will be fun?" He gives a resolute shake of his head. "Why, Mateo? Why don't you think it will be fun?"

"If I go to Legoland with you and Michael then we'll all be a family and Daddy will be left out," he explains with childish logic that is astonishingly sensible. "I don't want to have fun without him. It would hurt his feelings."

"Mateo, don't you think Daddy wants you to have fun?"

"Yes. But he doesn't want me to like Michael more than him," he argues.

"Is that what Daddy told you?"

"No. I just know it. Because he's always asking me if I like Michael and he seems happy when I tell him that I don't."

"So do you really not like Michael or are you trying to make your daddy happy?" He doesn't answer me but the way he averts his face makes me suspect that it's the latter that is bothering him. "Well, tell you what," I suggest lightly, "We'll just keep this trip between you and me for now."

"But isn't that lying?" he asks, intuitive as always.

"Not lying. I'm not required to tell your dad everything I do," I explain, "Does he tell me everything that he does?"

He thinks about that for a moment. "No."

"This is the same thing."

I can tell the reassurance doesn't go very far with him because when Michael arrives to pick us up, Mateo is still very lukewarm about the trip. He barely acknowledges Michael's excited whoop but instead drags himself towards the car, climbs inside and then slumps down low in his seat. Michael glances at me in concern as we walk to join him.

"You still think this is a good idea?" he frets with a measure of good humor, "He doesn't seem all that thrilled about going, babe. I don't want to have to resort to kidnapping."

"Don't say that!" I admonish with a playful whack to his shoulder, "We're not kidnapping him. We're encouraging him to experience something new."

"Yeah, uh-huh," Michael agrees indulgently, pulling me closer for his kiss, "Just as long as we're together, I don't care if it's a felony or not."

"Shut up. You are not funny," I tell him and then bely that statement by giggling into his mouth, "Come on. Let's get this show on the road."

We begin the trip by trying to draw Mateo into several classic long car ride games but he is clearly not feeling it. He sits in the back seat, pouting and staring blindly out the window. When he does speak, his answers are petulant and riddled with grievance. He's hungry but he doesn't like the snacks Michael has provided. He's hot but if we turn up the air conditioning then he's too cold. The seats are "too sticky." He likes his daddy's car better. On and on and on. Consequently, conversation primarily takes place between me and Michael. And, an hour into the trip, when it becomes clear that Mateo will no be coaxed out of his funk for anyone, we let him be and eventually he starts to grow tired.

"Is he out?" Michael asks when we pass a long stretch of free of complaints.

I twist a glance over my seat to find Mateo slumped against the car door, fast asleep. "Yep. He's out."

"My God, he's so stubborn. He definitely takes after you."

"Um, excuse me? No. I'm going to give Rafael credit on this one. That is all him."

"It's probably a combination of the two, which is unfortunate," Michael grumbles, "I feel like I'm never going to win him over."

"You will," I predict confidently, "He loves you, Michael. He just doesn't _want_ to love you."

He favors me with a wry, sideways smile. "So you keep telling me."

"Well, it's true."

"I guess I miss when he and I used to be friends," he whispers.

"You'll get that back, baby. You just have to be pa…" I never finish the sentence because right then, unexpectedly, I feel a curious flutter in my lower abdomen. I could have easily missed it if I hadn't experienced a similar sensation before when I was pregnant with Mateo. "Oh my God…" I utter in stunned elation.

"What?" Michael prompts in alarm.

"I felt the baby move." And before he can begin to process that statement I grab his hand and press it against my belly. "There!" I cry when I feel the tickling sensation once again, "Right there! Can you feel it? The baby is moving!"

He shakes his head, his face alight with a curious mix of happiness, excitement and disappointment. "I don't feel anything, Jane."

"Really? You didn't?" I reposition his hand and press harder. "How about now?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Whatever you're feeling, I got nada."

"I think maybe she's still too small," I mumble in mild frustration. Although, I've progressed enough in my pregnancy for it to be obvious to anyone who looks closely, at 16 weeks the baby isn't big enough and the movements aren't strong enough to be felt from the outside. "We'll have to wait until she gets bigger," I tell Michael.

He regards me with a curious smile. "She? Do you know something I don't know?"

We both agreed that we would find out the baby's sex in one of those trendy gender reveal parties to be scheduled after my 20 week ultrasound. And while Michael and I have speculated on which sex if more likely, my heart is most definitely set on having a little girl. I can already see her in my mind, a wide-eyed, chubby cheeked stunner with Michael's smile.

"It's nothing official," I say, "But every instinct inside of me says that we're having a girl."

His blue eyes become shimmery with emotion. "Really?"

I'm melting at his captivated response. "You'd want a little girl?"

"Well, we already have a little boy, don't we?"

"Yeah," I agree, bringing his hand to my mouth for a fervent kiss, "I guess we do."

Sometime after that, I fall asleep too with Michael's hand cradled against my abdomen. The next thing I know, Michael is nudging me awake with the announcement, "We're here." I yawn and stretch and slowly orientate myself to my surroundings. The hotel where we will be staying predictably looks like a building constructed from actual Legos. When Mateo catches sight of it, he goes wild with excitement. I guess that was all that was needed to snap him out of his mood.

"That's where we're staying?" he exclaims, hopping for the car with an expression of burgeoning awe, "It looks like a giant Lego! This is amazing! Come on, let's go inside! I want to go inside!"

We're staying in a pirate themed suite complete with a king-sized bed, mini fridge, microwave, coffee maker and a pull out sofa. We even have a spectacular view of the water and park beyond. The furniture inside is elegant, despite the gaudy theme, and not at all made of Legos as I was expecting. It could actually be a regular hotel suite were it not for the theme. Our room is immaculate, adored beautifully in shades of red, gold and brown. I might have stood there a little longer admiring it if I didn't have to pee so badly. I quickly excuse myself and make a beeline for the bathroom.

When I emerge a short time later, the pressure in my bladder at last relieved, I find Michael and Mateo sitting together on the love seat sized sofa, both of their expressions solemn. I immediately draw the worst conclusion. The instinct to run back into the bathroom is strong but I suppress it. Instead, I do the adult thing and tackle the issue head on.

"You two didn't have another fight, did you?" I lament softly, "We haven't even been here five minutes."

"We weren't fighting actually," Michael tells me, "Mateo just asked me a question but I think it's best that you answer him."

Alarm prickles at the back of my neck. "What question?"

Mateo cuts directly to the chase. "Mommy, are you going to have a baby?"

I immediately glance over at Michael, my eyes full of implicit question. "I didn't tell him," Michael assures me, "He heard us talking in the car and he asked."

"Well, are you?" Mateo insists.

I sit down in the chair adjacent to them and answer him honestly. "Yes, Mateo. I'm going to have a baby." I beckon him forward. "Come here and I'll let you feel." He inches closer and, when he's within arm's length, I take hold of his hand and lay it against my rounded belly much the way I did with Michael earlier. "See?" I breathe out shakily.

He stares at me in wide-eyed amazement. "You have a baby in there?"

"I sure do."

"How did you get a baby in your tummy?"

"Well, you remember the story Daddy and I told you about how you were conceived?" He nods in rapt fascination. "It was kind of like that but with me and Michael instead."

He squints at me, clearly puzzling out the explanation in his mind. "Did Auntie Luisa put Michael's swimmers into you while you were sleeping?"

I ignore Michael's dramatic choking and hacking in the background while I attempt to clarify to Mateo. "No. Aunt Luisa didn't put Michael's swimmers into me. Michael put them there and I wanted him to because that's what people do sometimes when they love each other." More coughing and gagging from Michael who is clearly unprepared for this frank discussion. To be fair, it did sort of come from out of nowhere but this is something he'll have to get used to because kids are _always_ asking questions and most of them aren't so easy to answer. For the time being, I pretend not to notice his histrionics even when Mateo innocently asks whether we should get Michael water.

"So that's how Michael and I made a baby," I finish after a truthful but brief explanation on how babies are _traditionally_ conceived.

Mateo blinks at me. "Oh. So this baby with Michael wasn't an accident?"

Michael and I exchange a brief but tender glance before I answer his question. "Well, we weren't planning it right away," I explain, "But Michael and I have always wanted to have a baby together so, even though the baby was a surprise, it was kind of on purpose too."

I can plainly the see that the wheels in his head are turning furiously but he betrays none of those thoughts in his next reply to me. "Oh. Okay. I understand." The response is frustrating because I know he has the tendency towards stubborn recalcitrance like his father. Sometimes, it simply has to be coaxed out of him. I suppose now is one of those times.

"What are you thinking right now, Mateo?"

He shakes his head and averts his eyes. "Nothing."

When he doesn't say anything further, I gently prompt him because I can tell that it is most certainly not "nothing" going on with him. "Are you sure? Is there anything else you want to ask me?"

"No. Can we go to the park now?"

His dizzying segue leaves me frowning. "You seriously don't have any questions for me?"

"Nope," he says and over his shoulder I see Michael give me a "how the hell should I know?" look when I glance over at him for assistance. Mateo grabs hold of my hand and starts tugging me to my feet. "Come on! Come on! I want to go on the rides!"

He has a blast, riding every attraction that meets his height requirements. There are a few points during the day where there are frustrated tears and mini tantrums because he's too short for a particular ride but, for the most part, Mateo spends his entire day smiling and that helps me to keep from worrying over his lack of enthusiasm concerning my pregnancy. Watching him have fun helps me not to obsess too much over what his indifference could possibly mean.

This entire time I've been imagining how he would react when I told him. I had prepared myself for excitement and anger but I had never considered he might be apathetic. The truth is, I really don't know how Mateo feels about having another sibling. He's never asked about it. In fact, he's always seemed rather satisfied with having Anna and Ellie as his sisters. Maybe he doesn't want another sibling. Maybe he will resent the baby for taking my attention away from him.

Okay, okay so maybe Mateo having a good time isn't enough to distract me from my worst fears. But whenever I start to spiral out of control and become consumed, Michael gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and that reminds me of one fundamental truth. No matter what the worst case scenario is, he and I still have each other. And that is enough to calm my fears…for now.

We decide to cap off our first evening at the Legoland theme park with a ride on the Ferris Wheel. By now, it's dark and the ride is illuminated brightly in the darkness like an ethereal ring of light. We climb into the bucket cart together with Michael on one side and Mateo and me on the other. I can't help but think of the previous times Michael and I have ridden this type of amusement ride together and how much I loved him then…and how much I love him right now.

Our car is approaching the top and Michael and I are trading tender, secretive smiles when Mateo suddenly asks, "Mommy, do you love your new baby more than me?"

The question takes me by surprise because I was sure he had zero interest in his sibling to be. "Mateo, where would you get an idea like that?"

"You love Michael more than you love Daddy," he reasons, "I know you said 'different' but I know you really mean _more_." Helpless in the face of his candor, I throw a desperate glance over at Michael in a silent plea for assistance but one look at his face tells me he has nothing to offer. "I just thought that maybe when you have your new baby then you won't need me anymore."

"I'm always going to need you. No one can replace you, Mateo," I tell him, "You're my firstborn and so, so special to me. Everything I learned about being a mommy, you taught me. Besides, I'm going to need your help when the baby comes. You're going to be a big brother after all and that's a lot of responsibility."

"I'm already a big brother to Anna and Ellie," he tells me, "But they live with Auntie Petra and I don't have to do anything for them."

"Right. But there's not much age difference between you and the twins. You will almost be seven years older than this baby."

"Wow. So I'll be a super big brother then," he concludes, looking awed by the prospect.

"Yes," I agree with a laugh, "The superest."

" _Most super_ ," Mateo corrects me patiently, "Superest isn't a word, Mommy."

I'm caught somewhere between laughing astonishment and pride at his matter-of-fact correction. "Oh…okay."

"Does that mean that when the new baby comes that I have to go live with Daddy so he won't be alone?"

"No!" I reply vehemently, "You don't have to go live with Daddy unless you want to, Mateo." The next words I say are the hardest that I've ever had to voice but I do so despite the pain they cause because I owe him the opportunity to speak his most honest thoughts. "Do you want to go live with him?"

"I don't want him to be alone," he answers honestly and I brace myself mentally and emotionally for the rest of what he's going to say. To my relief, however, Mateo shakes his head. "But I don't want to live with him. I want to stay with you."

And though I might be pushing my luck, I press him further. "And Michael too? Because living with me means living with him too, Mateo."

Mateo glances over at Michael then, as if he's weighing that decision and, at that point, Michael speaks. "Listen, buddy," he begins gently, "I know that this has been a hard transition for you. It's been rough. Everything is changing really fast and sometimes that can be scary."

"Yup," Mateo agrees with a nod.

"But change doesn't have to be a bad thing," Michael continues, " _You_ were a change for me. Your mom and I were going to get married and then, suddenly, she was pregnant with you and that scared me so much that I didn't know what to do. But you know what?"

"What?"

"You ended up being one of the best things that has ever happened to me, Mateo. You were the _greatest_ change of my life and I hope that one day you can feel the same about me."

And for the first time in more than two months, Mateo's façade of distant reserve cracks completely. He stares at Michael with his heart in his eyes and I almost burst into tears when I see it happen. "Really?" he asks Michael.

"Really. I love you and your mom and this new baby so much. You're my family and I don't want to be with anyone else but you."

Michael's not prepared and I'm not prepared for the moment when Mateo pitches himself across the cart and throws his arms around Michael in an enthusiastic hug brimming with emotion. The sudden gesture stuns us both into silence. I'm so happy to see it that I can forgive the violent rocking Mateo caused with his abrupt movement. It's worth it to see the expression of pure gratitude and relief on Michael's face. He smiles at me, his eyes glistening with happy tears.

"I think this was a good first vacation day," he says thickly, "Don't you think so too, Jane?"

"Yep," I agree, my own tears welling, "Best first vacation day ever!"

By the time we finally leave the park, Mateo is limp with exhaustion so Michael decides to carry him and Mateo falls asleep in his arms. I don't think it's possible for my heart to feel more full than it does as I watch Michael keep Mateo cradled against him as we walk back to the car. After arriving at the hotel twenty minutes later, Michael and I make a mutual decision to forgo Mateo's bath for the night.

Instead, we tag team to get him ready for bed. While I coax a sleepy and grumpy Mateo into his pajamas, Michael readies the fold out bed for him to sleep. There's enough room in the king-sized bed for him to sleep with us but neither of us are too keen on that idea. He's a cutie but I don't want to share a bed with him. Once we have him all tucked in and settled, we stand together arm in arm like the proud parents we are and watch him sleep.

"Just two more days…" Michael sighs wistfully.

I give him a playful poke to his midsection with my elbow. "What are you saying? I thought you were having a good time."

"I am. But he's got way more energy than I expected. He dragged us all over that park today and we weren't even there six hours. What happens tomorrow when we have a full day? I'm so tired I can't even blink. And if I have to carry him again…whoa! He's heavier than he looks, babe."

"Oh, I know."

"Tomorrow is going to break me."

"Nope, none of that talk. You'd better find some energy and prepare yourself for a wild ride tomorrow, Detective Cordero, because it is on."

He turns me in his arms to nibble several playful kisses across my jaw. He nuzzles against my ear, nipping lightly at my earlobe. I have to suppress of responding shudder of desire when he traces the outer shell of my ear with his tongue. "Speaking of wild rides…" he teases seductively, "…maybe you could give me one right now."

Determined to resist his advances, I shrug out of Michael's grasp with a sharp crack of laughter. "Not on your life! Mateo is sleeping right there."

"We used to do it with him sleeping in the same room all the time."

"He was too young to know what was happening!"

"Are you sure about that?"

"Michael! I am not having sex with you with my six year less than twenty feet away! It's not happening!"

"Okay, okay. It was worth a shot."

I start to smack him in the face with one of the sofa pillows when my cell phone suddenly begins to buzz in my pocket. Michael mouths to me that he's going to take a shower just as I pull it free to answer. I suppress an inward groan when I read the caller i.d. screen. It's Rafael. I mentally prepare myself for the dramatics that are about to unfold and then, after inhaling deeply, I answer the call.

"Hey, Raf. What's up?"

"Where the hell are you right now?"

"What do you mean?" My serene response belies my inward quaking right then.

"I just came from your grandmother's! I stopped by to tell Mateo goodnight on my way home from work and she said that you and Michael went out of town."

Yet again, I hesitate to answer but force myself to dive into my reply despite the dread gathering in my belly. "Um...yeah, we did. We'll be back in two days."

"What?" he explodes so loudly that I have to pull the phone away from my ear, "You took him out of town after I specifically told you that I wasn't comfortable with it?"

"He had a great time today, Raf. Michael and I took lots of pictures at the park. I'll text them to you."

"I want to talk to my son," he declares belligerently, "Put him on the phone right now!"

"He's asleep, Raf, and he's fine. He really had fun. I haven't seen him smile this much in months." _Not since we told him that we wouldn't be together_ , I add silently. But there's no need for me to say the words aloud because Rafael has already drawn that conclusion.

"Yeah, well…whose fault is that?" Rafael grumbles angrily, "I'm not the one who broke his heart in the first place!"

"I know and I take full responsibility for how sullen he's been lately," I acknowledge in an even tone, "So, can you understand why it would be important to me, to _Michael_ to make it up to him?" He doesn't answer that question and I don't expect him to either. In fact, I'm sure that even contemplating the idea only infuriates him more. I doubt I can make the situation any worse than it already is so I simply decide to go for broke and tell him everything. "Michael and I told Mateo about the baby today."

"What? You did that without me?"

"With all due respect, it wasn't something I planned to include you in on in the first place," I tell him more tartly than I intend, "Look, I don't want to fight. I hate fighting with you, Rafael. I hate that we have this tension between us. Can't we just…go back?"

"To when?" he snaps, "Before or after I fell in love with you again?"

"Rafael, please."

"How are we not supposed to fight when you completely disregard my feelings this way?"

"What about _my_ feelings?" I retort, "Is it really such a hardship for you that Michael and Mateo get along? They're going to be in each other's lives. It makes sense. You even said so!"

"Don't you get it? It feels like _everything_ that matters to me is slipping away," Rafael says, "I'm trying to hold on to what I have left! I've already lost you to him. I don't want to lose my son too."

"That won't happen. I won't let it happen."

"That's the same thing you said about us and look where we are," he replies stonily, "I want you to bring Mateo back home and I want you to bring him now, Jane!"

"Like I said before, we'll be back in two days," I reiterate softly, "We'll see you then."

I end the call before he can go off but that doesn't keep him from calling right back. I stare down at the screen, torn between answering and ignoring the call outright. Part of me is just so angry with him that I don't want to talk at all but part of me also misses our friendship so much. I miss the ease and the trust and the genuine affection that used to exist between us. I miss when we used to be a family.

But for Rafael, we can't have that again if Michael is part of the equation. So, I can't fathom how we'll ever come to any sort of agreement. We'll never find our balance again because Rafael can't accept Michael and I can't accept his non-acceptance. After endless vacillating and several phone calls, I finally choose the ignore option and toss my phone onto the bed.

"Was that Rafael?" I glance up to find Michael standing in the doorframe of the bathroom, his lower half wrapped in nothing but a towel. His body is still wet from the shower, beads of water still clinging to his face and shoulders and chest. I answer his question with a jerky nod. "Was he upset?"

"Yeah, he was," I answer, "But I don't want to talk about it."

Right then, looking at him, so sweet and concerned, his body exposed and practically begging to be touched, I make a concerted effort to put Rafael out of my mind. I move forward to take Michael's face in my hands and seal my lips to his in a passionate kiss. He's slow to respond at first but eventually parts his lips for the sweet invasion of my tongue.

"I thought you said you didn't want to have sex with Mateo in the room," he whispers in between kisses as I remove his towel and walk him back into the privacy of the bathroom.

"I changed my mind." I punctuate that statement by shutting the door behind me and locking it. The resounding click echoes the silence. We come together for another round of frantic kisses, parting only long enough for me to quickly shed my own clothes. But when I try to draw him back against me for more, he gently grasps hold of my shoulders to stave me off. "Jane, wait."

I glare at him in frustration and thwarted desire. "What?"

"You're upset."

"Because you're putting me off right now."

"Because you had a fight with Rafael," he counters softly, "I won't let you use sex with me as a distraction. So, let's talk about it."

Despite my best efforts not to let our fight get to me, my lip starts to quiver as the tears come. "It's just so hard, Michael. He was my best friend," I weep brokenly, "I never would have made it through your death without him and Petra and now…"

"…Now you're at odds with each other because of me."

"I'm not blaming you. It's not your fault," I tell him vehemently, "Rafael is the one who is being irrational. He's acting like you stole his life from him and that's not even remotely true!"

Michael flips down the toilet seat, sits down and then pulls me into his lap. "You can understand how he might feel that way though, right?" I refuse to answer that question, partly because I know where Michael is going with his argument. "I've been in his shoes, Jane," he whispers, "I know how it feels to have everything you thought was yours ripped away from you. I know how the pain turns you into someone you don't even recognize, someone you despise.

"I don't think that Rafael wants to fight with you anymore than you want to fight with him," Michael continues, "But, right now, he's like a wounded animal and he's lashing out. You can't take what he says and does personally because it's not Rafael saying and doing those things. It's the hurt."

I drop a light kiss to the tip of his nose. "How did you get so smart about people?"

"I'm not smart. I just know how it feels to lose you, Jane. It sucks."

"You don't think I should give up on him?"

"No. You shouldn't give up."

I kiss him again and it's then that it dawns on me that we're both naked and have been naked the entire time we've been having our little heart to heart. When I mention it to him, he laughs. "You were crying. It seemed like an awkward time to put on my pants."

Giggling in response, I scoot around on his lap and reposition my legs so that I'm straddling him. "Well, since you've got them off, we might as well make the most of it…"


	34. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three (Michael POV)**

The drive back to Miami is a hell of a lot more pleasant than the drive leaving had been. That is thanks in large part to the fact Mateo is no longer giving me the silent treatment _and_ Jane, as of last night, has finally broken through her writer's block. She rose from bed at about 2:00 in the morning and wrote until dawn. I only know that because I was briefly jostled awake when she climbed from the bed to find her laptop and, when I opened my eyes again as weak sunlight filtered in through the heavy, hotel curtains, she was still furiously typing.

It was so good to see her writing again, so familiar that I didn't even bother with feeling ignored when she shooed me and Mateo downstairs to enjoy the continental breakfast without her. I enjoyed having the time to talk to him one on one, even if he did most of the talking. I couldn't help but feel that everything was the way it had always been meant to be between us and I feel that exact same way now.

There is an air of contentment that surrounds our little makeshift family that was not present before. As of this exact second, there are no foreseeable crises on the horizon, no criminal masterminds lying in wait to do us harm. No one is sulking. No one is crying. No one is having an emotional breakdown as a result of a world flipped upside down. It's just me, my woman and my kid spending time together and I can't imagine anything better than that.

These last three days with my family have been the most fun, but also the most _exhausting_ days I've ever experienced in my life…and I went through a relentless police academy training. Jane and I had bounced back and forth between the two parks, sometimes several times in one day. Mateo could never decide what he wanted to do more, ride kiddie rollercoasters or play in the lazy river, which left us flittering hither, tither and yon at his every whimsy. But even as tired as I am right now, thinking about how happy he'd been makes me smile. I don't regret a single moment.

Finally, our relationship is back on track and, ever since Mateo decided to start speaking to me again, he's been a virtual chatterbox with a seemingly endless supply of subjects to discuss. He's stuck to me like glue these last three days, waiting for me outside of the bathroom, shadowing me while I shaved, holding _my_ hand as we wound our way through the parks. He even volunteered to accompany me if I ran an errand.

And the entire time, he talked…about the weather, about his breakfast, about whatever random subject popped into his six year old brain and I listened, all day and all night. He sometimes fell asleep talking. When he woke up the next morning, he'd simply resume as if he had been on pause for the night. I was sure that he would eventually run out of subject matter but he never did. Jane thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world.

The only reason he's not yammering my ear off right this second is because he's asleep. So is his mother for that matter. She had drifted off about an hour before we were set to hit the Miami city limits, understandable since she's only had a few hours of real quality sleep. Before she lost the fight to stay awake, however, she had been furiously drafting the first chapter in her novel and her peck, peck, pecking on the keys had been punctuated by Mateo's longwinded recap of his adventures at Legoland. Now the car is quiet and strangely enough I miss the noise that had filled it an hour before.

There's a part of me that's very reluctant to return to Miami. It's been nice just being the three of us in our own little bubble. With all other outside influences shut away, we could focus on becoming closer and enjoying one another's company, on really getting to know one another and what were our expectations for our family. But I know it's unrealistic to expect that could go on indefinitely. After all, that's why it's called a vacation. It's an opportunity to "vacate" your real life but only for a short time. Now it's back to reality, more specifically back to Rafael and facing his certain wrath.

And I say that it's certain because the guy has been blowing up Jane's cell nonstop for the past two days. She had more than a dozen missed calls from him on her cell phone, none of which she'd returned. It had been important to Jane to give Mateo a stress free adventure and so she made the executive decision to ignore Rafael altogether. So I know that he's probably about ready to sail into orbit by now. That suspicion is sadly confirmed when I pull up in front of the Villanueva home and find Rafael's car already there. I knew that it would be after Jane sent him a heads up text that we were coming home. After taking a few seconds to mentally prepare myself, I reach over to gently wake Jane.

She blinks at me with bleary eyes. "Hmm…what?"

"Babe, we made it home and…Rafael is here."

With that, all vestiges of sleep disappear from her face and she scrambles upright and immediately comes face to face with the rear bumper of Rafael's car which is parked in front of us. She glances back at a dozing Mateo and then back at me. "Well," she sighs, "I guess we should hurry up and get this over with."

We're only halfway up the walk, with Jane coaxing along a still sleepy Mateo and me carrying Jane and Mateo's bags, Jane's laptop, the various stuffed animals we procured over the past two days and the basketball I won for Mateo the last night at Legoland when Rafael comes rushing out of the front door. The instant Mateo sees his father he comes alive and goes running straight into Rafael's open arms with an excited cry of, "Daddy!" The two share an emotional reunion, more on Rafael's end than Mateo's, while Jane and I close the distance.

By the time we reach them, Mateo is already talking up a storm about everything he saw and did while on vacation and Rafael is listening to him in rapt attention. But his lips are also compressed in a tight smile, a sure indication that he's also quite pissed. I already know that this won't go well.

"We took tons of pictures," Jane tells him by way of peace offering, "We can go on into the house and I can show them to you."

Rafael flicks her with a withering glare before he sets Mateo back down onto his feet with an over-bright smile. "Hey buddy, why don't you run into the house and see what _bisa_ is making you? I want to talk to Mommy and Michael for a little bit before you show me all of the pictures."

As if willed forth by a mere mention, Alba materializes in the front door. She exchanges greetings with Jane and I and it's impossible to miss the concern in her eyes as she beckons Mateo closer. "Tuviste un buen viaje?" she asks Jane.

"It was great. Michael and I have plenty of pictures. We had a blast."

"Bueno. Mantendré a Mateo ocupado en la casa mientras hablas," she says, her expression tense, "Por favor trata de mantener la calma y recuerda que eres una familia."

She bounces a beseeching glance between the three of us, apparently sensing that our impending discussion is not going to be a peaceful one. Thankfully, she offers to relieve me of the armful I'm carrying. I transfer the load between her and Mateo with a grateful smile and watch with some measure of dread as they turn to go back into the house.

"Don't be long, Daddy," Mateo requests before Alba can drag him into the house completely, "I have a lot to tell you!"

Once he disappears into the house and is safely out of earshot, however, Rafael's pleasant demeanor evaporates entirely. He whips around to glare at me and Jane. "You two have some nerve!" he grates, "You're lucky I didn't call the police and have you both arrested!"

Jane is left stammering and horrified by the threat but I merely snort with laughter. "For what?"

"For kidnapping," Rafael snaps.

"Go ahead," I invite him lightly, "File the charge. They'll laugh you right out of the station."

"I should punch you in your smug face," he warns me, "but Mateo is in the house and, fortunately for you, I have more self-control than that but don't test my patience, Michael! Don't think I don't know that you're behind this!"

"Behind what?"

"Jane would have _never_ done something like this without you putting the idea in her head!"

I am still sputtering over his dual implication that Jane is somehow easily manipulated and that I am also a negative influence on her when Jane suddenly interjects both on my behalf and her own. "Leave him alone. _I_ made the decision to go and I would do it again too," she says, "If you want to blame someone, blame me."

"Oh, don't worry about that," he scoffs bitterly, "I do! You've made it quite clear how little you respect me!"

"You have a lot of nerve talking about respect when _you're_ the one who doesn't respect _my_ decisions!"

"Well, do you blame me?" he retorts, raking me with a brief but scathing glance, "The last time you made a decision our family was torn apart!" From where I stand behind Jane, I shake my head slightly, my first and last warning to Rafael that he is about to step into a minefield but he either doesn't care or that's his intention because his next words only cause tensions to escalate. "Maybe I could respect your decisions if they made sense to me!" _Wrong thing to say, dude. Wrong thing._

Jane absorbs that response with a scoff and rapid, dubious blinking. "I'm going to ignore how painfully problematic and offensive that comment is and chalk it up to you being upset right now," she intones with a haughty edge, "Because otherwise…"

"Otherwise what?" he challenges.

 _Because otherwise you sound like a Neanderthal_ , I answer him mentally. _Otherwise, you're going to really piss her off. And otherwise, you're going to destroy what's left of the relationship you have with her._ I'm trying to telepathically transmit that message to his belligerent ass, advising him not to go there at all. I've walked in those shoes before and they take you down a very lonely path. He's not on my list of favorite people or anything but I still wouldn't wish that agonizing lesson on him. Losing her is already pain enough and I know _that_ from experience as well.

"Rafael, why are you being like this?" Jane cries, "It's not like we took him out of the country or even out of the state! And now we're back. Mateo is fine and obviously nothing bad happened! Can't you chill?"

"You ignored my calls for _two days_ , Jane. What was I supposed to think? How was I supposed to know that he was okay? That nothing had happened to him or if you were even coming back at all? Do you even know how frantic I was?"

"I would have called you if that was the case. And of course we were coming back! This is our home!"

"Yeah, well you'll forgive me if I don't easily take you at your word!"

I watch as Jane's defensive guilt fades away and is replaced with mounting anger and irritation. "We went to an amusement park, Raf, not Egypt! Get over yourself."

"You deprived me of sharing that experience with him!" Rafael argues, "You deliberately shut me out, Jane, and that is unacceptable as far as I'm concerned!"

"You want to experience an amusement park with Mateo? Take him! Go with my blessing! No one is stopping you from spending time with your son, Rafael, including right this second!"

"Are you being serious right now?" Rafael demands incredulously, "You're not even going to apologize for making me go out of my mind for _two days_?"

Jane crosses her arms, her expression rebellious and I silently will her not to say what she's about to say next…but she does it anyway. "No. I'm not going to apologize."

"I guess I don't have a choice then…" Rafael sighs plaintively, "You're too far gone."

"A choice in what?" Jane prompts, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I'm going to petition the court for full custody of Mateo. Obviously that needs to happen since I can't trust you to have his best interests at heart."

Jane and I respond with a simultaneous and incredulous, "What?" But while she descends into a rant about Rafael's unadulterated nerve and pettiness and general childishness, I try to take a more practical approach and appeal to his sense of reason instead. "Come on, man. Do you really want to turn this into a court case?" I ask him, "Over an amusement park?"

Predictably, however, my attempt at magnanimity doesn't go over well and he essentially tells me to kiss his ass. "This really has nothing to do with you, Michael, so you can leave."

"Actually, he doesn't have to go anywhere," Jane retorts before I can say a word, "This involves him because Mateo loves him and so do I! So, Michael stays. Furthermore, please…go right ahead and sue me for custody. I'm sure the judge will be very eager to award you full parental rights with you being an _ex-con_ and all! Meanwhile, I _don't_ have a criminal record, I can provide Mateo with a two parent, stable home, not to mention the fact that my boyfriend is a cop! What kind of chances do you _really_ think you'll have for full custody, Raf?"

"Oh, you're going to go there?"

"You're the one who brought up custody," she bites out, "I'm just giving you a dose of reality!"

"Okay, how's this for reality?" Rafael retorts in a mocking tone, "Michael might be a cop but he's also been a _shady_ cop. What do you think a judge will say when all of Michael's dirty laundry gets aired, not to mention the fact he's mentally unstable and put me in the hospital four months ago?"

I'm groaning inwardly at the reminder. That day remains one of the lowest points in my existence. Every time I think I've moved on from it, a reminder comes back to bite me in the ass. I definitely don't want it rehashed in court, especially if custody is hanging in the balance. I hate that my actions from that day are going to be used as a legal bargaining chip and if the rage gathering on Jane's face is any warning, she hates it too.

"You son of a bitch," she hisses, surprising both Rafael and me by the intensity in her tone, "How dare you throw the hell Michael went through back in his face like that? Who do you think you are? You want to hate me, Rafael? Fine! Maybe I deserve it. But what I _don't_ deserve is you using my son and Michael to hurt me and this will be the last time! I'm done with that! So you can get off my property before I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing!"

For a moment, he stands there dumbfounded, as if he can't quite believe the words that just came flying out of her mouth. Quite truthfully, neither can I. In all the time he's been in our lives, I've never seen her display this level of vitriol towards Rafael. I've never heard her talk to him this way. He's almost always gotten a pass from her as Mateo's father, a default benefit of the doubt if you will, so to witness this level of bitterness being directed at him right now feels almost seems surreal. And, unlike times past, when I've been a bystander during their occasional arguments, I don't enjoy this one in the least because now I'm considering how having his parents at odds will adversely affect Mateo.

With that in mind, I give Jane a soothing nudge from behind to get her attention. "Babe, maybe you want to stop now," I murmur, "before you say something that you'll regret."

"Don't worry," she clips before turning back to face Rafael, "I don't regret a single word." And then she proceeds to make it blindingly clear that this isn't an emotional lapse and that she is doing what she wants when she explodes at Rafael, "Go! Get out of here! I mean it! Right now!"

I think, perhaps, that edict is finally enough to wake Rafael up to the fact that he's gone too far because his tone suddenly shifts from accusing to coaxing. "Jane, come on… You can't kick me out of Mateo's life. I'm his father. I love him." There is a flicker of remorse on his face when he says as he pleads with her, reasons with her but Jane is having none of it.

She points a finger towards his parked car. "I said leave. _Get off of my property!_ Any further communication between us should be through our lawyers and we'll decide your schedule for visitation then!"

But just as he starts to reluctantly step around her to comply with the command, Jane suddenly cries out and doubles over in pain. In an instant, all the animosity of the previous moment is forgotten as sudden alarm sets in. Both Rafael and I are at her side immediately, flanking her as she cradles her belly with a low moan. "Jane, what is it?" I press her anxiously, "Tell me what's happening!"

"I don't know…" she grits out, "…it just hurts." And then she grabs hold of my forearm, her features slack with terror. "Oh my God, Michael…I…I think I'm bleeding."

Everything that happens after that seems to go by in a blur of activity for me. I go on immediate auto-pilot, falling into the emergency training afforded to me by the Miami-Dade police department. While I direct Jane over to the porch swing and encourage her to keep calm, I order Rafael to call 911 and inform Alba of the situation. Jane is crying and shaking and hysterical and absolutely convinced that she is losing our baby and I don't know what to say, especially when I see the crimson that is beginning to saturate her white shorts. By the time the ambulance finally arrives, I'm internally panicking right along with her though I do my best to maintain a veneer of calm.

I'm unable to ride in the ambulance with her and so I'm forced to go with Rafael, who is insistent on driving me because I'm "too upset." I don't even contemplate rejecting his offer because I can think of little else besides Jane and the baby. He and I follow behind the paramedics in his car and remain as close as we can, as safely as we can.

A vacuum of silence and dread has formed around me. Without Jane to focus on, I'm suddenly trapped in my own thoughts and imagining about a dozen morbid outcomes. The one thing that keeps coming back to me, however, is that 16 week old fetuses do not survive outside of the womb. I remember reading that somewhere recently when I was researching the medical advances made in caring for premature infants.

Just the other night, Jane had been dozing beside me and I had been watching her sleep and wondering about when I might be able to feel the baby kick, which had led to a meandering google search on all things baby related. I hadn't thought too closely about that article when I read it but now… _now_ it felt like a sign. Maybe God had been trying to prepare me for what was about to come. I can feel the blood pounding in my ears with the thought and, right then, I greatly need a distraction.

Somehow I have the presence of mind to call Xiomara and Rogelio to update them but I get their voicemails with both calls. Given the circumstances, I'm frustrated, especially because I'm anticipating that Jane will need Xiomara like she's never needed her before. Left with little choice, I leave a message for both of them to call me as soon as possible. But after I'm done with that, I am overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. We're fairly flying through the streets of Miami but time has slowed to a crawl. I feel a little lost and I don't even realize that I'm crying as I stare blindly at the flashing red and blue lights ahead of us until Rafael offers an attempt at reassurance.

I glance over at him, startled from my dark thoughts. "What?"

"Maybe it's not as bad as you think," he suppositions gently.

"She was bleeding," I tell him flatly, scrubbing away the tears that fall, "A lot. It's as bad as I think."

"I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen."

"Well, what were you expecting when you were hammering at her like that?" I bite out, "You actually threatened to take Mateo away because we went on vacation! She's _pregnant_ for God's sake, Rafael! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I was angry. I wasn't thinking!"

"No shit!"

"I don't know what to say, Michael."

"I think you've said enough! And I know you probably don't give a damn because it's _my_ kid but-,"

"That's not true," he interrupts me sharply, "It's _her_ kid too. I don't want her to lose it."

Once we finally arrive at the hospital, we're not permitted to see Jane right away. She is immediately wheeled up to labor and delivery for evaluation and Rafael and I are forced to cool our heels in the waiting room. Despite several more attempts, I still cannot get through to Rogelio and Xiomara. I call Alba next and she reassures me that she will keep trying to contact with Xo and Ro while I focus on Jane and the baby.

That's one less worry weighing on my shoulders but I still feel as if I'm going to jump out of my skin. I anxiously pace the length of the carpeted floor. There are a few others milling about with us in the waiting room and I vaguely wonder if they are waiting to hear good news or bad news…like me.

"You can go," I tell Rafael when I notice that he continues to linger, "I'm sure you have other things to do. Mateo is probably freaking out right now."

"Mateo is fine. Alba will take care of him. I want to stay here and make sure Jane is okay."

"Oh, so now you care!" I scoff bitterly before I can stop myself.

"That's not fair. You know I love her!"

"You have an interesting way of showing it."

"And I regret that more than I can say, Michael. I'm so sor-,"

"Save your apology," I snap, "I don't want to hear it! If anything happens to Jane or our baby, that's on you, Rafael, and you have to live with it! I'm sure as hell not going to absolve you!"

We spend the remainder of the next 90 minutes in tense silence. I try to think of how I'm going to comfort Jane, what I'm going to say to reassure her if our baby dies. I find myself thinking of something she said to me months ago, in defense of my mother. _…I haven't lost a child. I can't imagine who I would become if Mateo died._ Now, her comment almost feels ominous, like foreshadowing. The words turn over and over again in my head now. I wonder who she's going to become if we lose this baby. I wonder who _I'm_ going to become for that matter.

I'm at the point where I'm pretty sure I'm going to go out of my damned mind from waiting and I'm thinking about badgering the girl at the desk one more time when someone finally calls my name. I glance up and find a nurse standing just outside of the glass partition surrounding the waiting area. For a second, I'm afraid I might have misheard her so I remain frozen in place.

"Mr. Cordero?" she asks again.

Rafael and I scramble closer. "Yes?" I prompt a little desperately.

"You can come back and see your wife now."

I'm so anxious, I barely even register the nurse's assumption that Jane and I are married. It's not even minutely important because all I can really think about is the baby. I don't even want to ask my next question but I have to. It's blaring in my brain over and over and I have to know.

"Is our baby…d-did Jane have a…?"

"Your baby's fine, Mr. Cordero, and your wife is eager to see you. Please, follow me."

I'm so elated that I don't even think about asking Rafael to stay behind so when he follows me back I don't even care. I'm too focused on keeping up with the nurse's brisk pace. Thankfully, he hangs back when reach the room and allows me to slip inside the examination cubicle to see Jane alone. I find her propped upright on the stretcher with two monitor belts wrapped around her abdomen. A soft, rhythmic beeping cuts through the otherwise sterile silence within the room. Jane smiles at me in relief and beckons me forward, answering the unspoken question on my face.

"It's okay. Baby is good. I have a condition called placenta previa," she explains to me, "That's why I was bleeding."

"What the hell is that?"

"It just means that my placenta is too low, almost near the birth canal. The doctor says that as the baby gets bigger it might shift but I can experience some intermittent bleeding in the meantime."

"You mean like today?" I balk. The idea of her bleeding like that on a regular basis honestly freaks me the hell out and I say so.

"According to the doctor, I didn't lose much blood at all," she says, "Not even half a cup."

"Really?"

"Really. They said my hemoglobin is still within normal range."

"But what about all the pain you were in?" I press worriedly, "You said you felt like you were having contractions."

"I was. But they weren't strong enough to dilate me."

Relieved, I smooth my hands over the small, rounded slope of her abdomen as if to reassure myself that it is still there. "So why were you having contractions in the first place?"

"Well…that's actually your fault."

I rear back with a confused frown. "My fault?"

"I have a urinary tract infection…" I stare at her blankly, not immediately grasping the correlation. "…From all the sex," she clarifies with a wry smile.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. So the nurse told me that I need to pee before and after sex. I need void when I have the urge, wipe front to back and drink plenty of water. I'm also going to be on a course of antibiotics for the next ten days. Yay for me!"

"But can we still have sex…I mean, even with the previa thing? That's okay, right?"

"Yes, we can still have sex…though they advised me to wait a week until the infection clears." She pulls me closer for a laughing kiss and I transmit every ounce of relief and happiness I feel into kissing her back. After a few seconds, she breaks contact and pulls back from me with an affectionate nuzzle before whispering, "There's something else I have to tell you."

I try to mask the dread the gurgles to life in the pit of my stomach when she says that. "What is it?"

"I know what we're having."

Reassured that nothing is seriously wrong, the tension abruptly seeps from my body and I decide to tease her a little. I fall back a step with a dramatic gasp. "You didn't. Jane, we agreed to wait."

"The nurse asked me!" she rushes out in justification, "And I was so worried and stressed out that when it happened that I just said yes without thinking because I needed some good news and I was so upset and beside myself that I didn't even correct her when she assumed we were married so I really didn't even know half of what was going on when I said yes and…are you mad at me? I won't tell you the sex if you don't want to know, Michael."

I roll my eyes at that weak promise. "Tell me."

She's practically squealing with delight when she makes the reveal. "We're having a little girl." Her excitement is infectious and I have to kiss her again right then. She giggles happily in between our ecstatic kisses. "You're not disappointed that we won't have our gender reveal party after all, are you?" she asks me.

I smile against her mouth. "Can I be honest?"

Jane rears back a little to regard me. "Yeah. Of course."

"I actually wasn't as excited about the party as you were," I confess sheepishly, "No offense but…it sounded a little stupid to me. Don't be mad!"

She gapes at me. "What? If that's how you felt then why did you agree?"

"Because you wanted it and your happiness is no small thing to me, remember?"

All traces of laughing outrage vanish from her face as she leans back into me for another kiss. "I love you so much."

"I love _you_ so much."

"Is everything okay?"

Startled, I lurch around to face Rafael. Apparently, he had slipped inside the room sometime in the last few seconds and neither Jane nor I had noticed his entrance. Actually, I had completely forgotten that he was here at all until he spoke. Under normal circumstances, I'd probably ask him to leave but he looks so apprehensive and so apologetic that I take pity on him and say nothing.

Jane reflexively grabs for my hand and regards him with a guarded expression. "Hey, Rafael. I didn't realize you were here."

"Hey, Jane. How are you doing? I wanted to check on you…make sure everything was okay."

"I'm fine," she tells him, "And so is the baby. It wasn't anything too serious."

"It wasn't? Because it seemed pretty serious to me. I was worried about you."

"I have a something called placenta previa. It doesn't affect the baby if it's monitored properly. Basically it means my placenta is developing very close to the birth canal and that's why I was bleeding."

"So it wasn't anything that I did?" he asks with palpable relief.

"No, it wasn't, Raf. You don't have anything to feel guilty about. What happened to me today wasn't your fault."

"But it kind of was…" he argues softly, "…because I upset you. I never should have threatened to sue you for custody. I was angry and I wasn't thinking. I'm sorrier than I can say."

"And I shouldn't have ignored your calls," Jane acknowledges in return, "You were right about that. But I knew you were angry and I didn't want to fight so I avoided you. I didn't handle it in the best way. I'm sorry too."

"I understand. Neither of us has handled this situation very well."

"We can't go on like this. We have to find a better way of dealing with our new circumstances for Mateo's sake and for this baby too," Jane says, darting a look between me and Rafael, "I love Michael. And Mateo loves Michael. He's not going anywhere, Raf, so you need to come to terms with that." She turns to me then. "And Michael? I love Rafael too. I know he's been a sore spot for you for a long time now but… He's my friend and he means a lot to me and I want him in my life. Can you accept that?"

"You know that I can," I assure her even as a small part of me wishes she didn't feel that way.

She glances over at Rafael. "What about you?"

"I'll try," he mumbles and it sounds like the words are being ripped from his body, "What I know for sure is that I don't want what happened this afternoon to ever happen again. When they put you in the back of that ambulance today, I've never been so scared in my life and I felt like…" He trails off with a rough swallow. "I _never_ want to feel like that again. I want us to stop fighting too. So, I will work on my attitude. I promise."

He goes into her arms the moment she opens them in invitation and I step aside and give them some relative privacy while they hug it out. When they separate, Jane is crying openly while Rafael surreptitiously wipes away his own tears. "I should probably go," he says when he straightens, "I need to relieve Alba and update them on what happened."

"Right. It was crazy for a minute there. I'm surprised my mom and dad haven't stormed this place."

"I called them both," I tell her, "but I got their voicemails. It didn't seem like the kind of message you leave on someone's phone, so I just told them to call me."

"Well, when they do call, we can tell them crisis averted," she says with a smile.

I smile back. "Thank God."

"On that note," Rafael sighs, abruptly reminding us both that he's still in the room, "I'm going to take off now and give you two some time alone. I'm glad everything is okay."

He's halfway down the corridor by the time I make it out of the room to chase after him. I call his name and he stops and turns back to face me with a dread-filled expression. "I just wanted to thank you…for driving me here," I say, hoping that will relieve his uneasiness, "And also I wanted to say that I'm sorry for blaming you. I was scared and you were an easy target."

"Don't mention it. I was blaming myself too, so…"

I accept his tacit apology with a nod. "You know, for the record…I get what you're going through right now, probably better than anyone in the world," I continue sincerely, "I know what it feels like to love her and then lose her and then watch her be with someone else. It's absolute torture."

"Yeah."

"But I don't want to be your enemy, Rafael, just because we happen to be in love with the same woman. If anything, that should allow us to find some common ground, don't you think?"

"I guess."

"So let's try that. For real this time. Not that halfhearted bullshit you gave her a minute ago but a real, honest to goodness effort. For her sake…because we both love her. What do you say?" I extend my hand to him in firm invitation. "Can we try to be friends?"

I heave a sigh of relief when he steps forward and shakes my hand. "Yeah. I'm willing to try."


	35. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Four (Jane POV)**

"Isn't this breaking and entering?"

I twist a dubious frown over my shoulder at Mom following that ridiculous question. She and Dad are crouched behind me as if they are actually taking part in a heist. If they pulled out ski masks and covered their faces right then, I would not have been surprised. I barely suppress my answering eye roll.

"What are you two doing? Breaking and entering implies intent to rob or vandalize, neither of which I'm interested in doing. Besides," I say, hoisting my duplicate key to Michael's apartment aloft, "it's not breaking and entering if you use a key."

"Well, you're still sneaking in and removing furniture without his knowledge," Mom insists in a stage whisper, "So semantics."

"I am not _removing_ furniture. I am _replacing_ furniture," I tell her as I unlock the door, "And I'm doing it for a good cause."

She and Dad breeze past me into the apartment and Mom asks in mocking challenge as they do, "Oh yeah? And what good cause is that?"

Dad is good enough to answer to provide the answer. "Because Michael lives in a rathole and I find that personally offensive."

That statement is aptly punctuated as we take in the apartment's interior together. Michael has literally three pieces of furniture in his living room, a black, leather futon, a rickety coffee table that he took off of someone's curb and a television set. His dining room is worse. There are two chairs (and the second chair is only a recent purchase for my benefit and doesn't match the first one) and a set of fold out dinner trays. And his bedroom isn't much better and is furnished with only the basic necessities. Bed, dresser, mirror. And none of those pieces match either. But, at least there is a pop of life in that room because it's now littered with my belongings for the nights when I sleep over.

But that's it. There's not a plant, a painting, a bowl of fruit, nothing to personalize the place or make it anything other than what it was. Functional. Michael uses the apartment for little else other than to sleep, have sex and occasionally have dinner. We don't spend an inordinate amount of time here unless we're doing one of those three things (or all three at once) and Michael has even admitted to me that he didn't give the place a whole lot of forethought when he signed the lease. Back then, he had been going through a mild depression and had cared about very little beyond finding a space apart from his mother. Unfortunately, now he is locked into his leasing contract for another six months at least, unless he decides to pay the penalty.

It's amazing how drastically life can change in such a short period of time. When Michael had signed the lease for this place all those months ago, he and I weren't even speaking and I had no definitive plans to tell him about the baby. Rafael and I were barely civil and my novel was at a standstill. My mother was in the middle of chemotherapy and my father splitting his time between taking care of her and promoting the Americanized version of the Passions of Santos, aptly called _The Passions of Steve and Brenda_. And my grandmother was just beginning to realize her green card marriage wasn't so much about the green card after all.

Now everything is different. Michael and I are together again and have formed an odd but surprisingly strong family unit with Mateo, Rafael, Petra and the twins. After several months of falling to the wayside, Saturday brunch has resumed but this time with Michael and Jane Ramos (Petra's girlfriend) included. Those two were wary of each other in the beginning, much the way Jane had been lukewarm towards me but they've gradually grown to respect one another. Michael and Rafael have even formed a tentative friendship, one not born from an investigation into the criminal exploits of Rafael's absentee mother but from mutual esteem instead.

There seems to be an unspoken understanding between them now, which I suppose is what eventually led to Rafael dating Michael's partner's youngest daughter, Katie Sisquo. (Yeah, I'm still wrapping my mind around that one too.) But she is beautiful and smart and ambitious and I can't deny that it's good to see him happy and smiling again. I also have to be grateful to Katie, a practicing attorney, for encouraging Michael to actually give law school a try. She and Jane have been a godsend in that regard because they were able to accomplish what I had failed to do…get Michael to see beyond being a cop.

He is now in the process of taking his necessary undergraduate courses online while still working for the police department. The added coursework has left him tired and perpetually busy but he's sticking with it. I'm proud of him. And I'm just looking forward to the day when I can watch him leave for work and not feel terrified.

I still have nightmares about his near death. The fear of losing him again continues to hold me in its unrelenting grip and I know that Michael is having the same struggles when it comes to losing me. He has nightmares too. Sometimes he wakes shaking and screaming in the night, drenched in sweat and more afraid than I've ever seen him. At those times, the only thing I can do is hold him and murmur soothing reassurances until he's able to fall asleep again. He continues to attend his therapy sessions faithfully every week, which I encourage because I know from experience how valuable that is. We work through our personal issues together, a little bent and broken but still standing, still in love.

In the meantime, I keep myself staunchly focused on good things. My mother has, at last, completed her chemotherapy regimen and has been officially declared cancer free. She will continue with a therapeutic infusion every three weeks for the next nine months to neutralize any microscopic cancer cells that might remain but, for the most part, she is in the clear. My father's telenovela is set to premiere on the CW next month and is receiving all sorts of media buzz in anticipation. And my grandmother and Jorge are officially living together as husband and wife, which is part of the reason I've been spending so much time at Michael's place lately. I want to give the newlyweds their space.

But Dad is right. This place is definitely lacking appeal. And even though Michael and I are planning to start looking for our own place in the very near future, I would still like to liven up the apartment in the meantime, since I spend 98.9% of my time here. Especially because I sense an impending marriage proposal coming my way.

While Michael and I have freely talked about getting remarried we haven't been in an extreme rush to make it official. Mateo was still adjusting to the idea of us as a couple and so was Rafael. My mother was still in the midst of chemotherapy. My dad was my dad. And I was having a terrible time finding my writing mojo again. Not to mention, all the issues that had stemmed from Michael's kidnapping, namely his PTSD, Rose's trial and his coming to terms with Lorena's part in all of that. We had a lot on our plate. Marriage had been very, very low on the totem pole of priorities.

But now I'm less than two weeks away from entering my third trimester of pregnancy. Rose is on death row. Lorena and her brother have been committed to witness protection and have relocated to God knows where. I've finally moved past my writer's block and recently finished the first draft of my second novel. The large, multi-generational story I had initially envisioned has now been broken down into a series of books and, having completed the first of five, I am now in the process of putting the finishing touches on the second. The first of those books, however, is set to go to print in two weeks.

And Mateo? Well, it took a few months, but even he has finally reached his limits of patience and has begun asking when Michael and I are going to get married. I know that if we've reached the point where Mateo is onboard there is really nothing holding us back any longer. So, what are we waiting for? The time is right and I'm definitely ready.

"Okay, I get why you want to spruce the place up," Mom says, shaking me from my internal musing, "It's very sad in here. But aren't you and Michael planning to get a place of your own soon? Why waste your time redecorating this one then?"

"Xiomara, it is _never_ a waste of time to redecorate," Dad sniffs, appalled that she would dare to say such a thing. He glances over at me. "How long did you say we have until Michael arrives home?"

"Roughly eight hours."

He's clearly disappointed with the estimate and sweeps another repulsed glance around the apartment. "That's hardly enough time but I'll see what I can do," he sighs, " _Anything_ would be better than this travesty. Jane, I wish you had told me that he was living like this sooner. I would have intervened. This is clearly a cry for help."

Mom and I trade repressed smirks. "Sorry, Dad."

"Don't apologize. Just be better."

"Yes. Of course."

"What's done is done," he declares magnanimously, "My team will be here soon and we will see what can be done about this place. I'll take some measurements in the meantime."

We watch as he begins to bustle from one corner of the apartment to the other, muttering to himself the entire time. "You have no idea how excited he was when you asked him to do this," Mom tells me, "It's all he's talked about for the last five days. The fact that it's a secret from Michael is a bonus."

Not that he's been the best about keeping that secret. To have so many years to his credit as a seasoned actor, Dad has been making it rather obvious by his behavior around Michael that something is going on with him. Even if Michael weren't a detective, which he is, and didn't know my father so well, which he does, he would likely still suspect that something was up with my father. But the fact that he is an investigator and is also good friends with Dad only made his suspicions keener.

I've learned that trying to surprise Michael Cordero requires quite a mental workout. He's already questioned me about Dad's odd behavior numerous times over the past week and I've grown less and less adept at putting him off. We've had the same conversation in different variations every night before going to bed.

 _"_ _Jane, do you know what's up with Rogelio?"_

 _"_ _I don't know what you mean."_

 _"_ _He's still acting really, really strange."_

 _"_ _Define strange. That's pretty much par for the course when it comes to my father, Michael."_

 _"_ _No. This is a different kind of strange. Something is definitely off with him. Maybe I should ask him about it."_

 _"_ _No, don't do that! Maybe…maybe you could give him a few days just to see if his 'strangeness' works itself out."_

Unsurprisingly, I did not succeed in throwing Michael off the scent at all but instead heightened his suspicion of my father…and me, because my response made it absolutely clear that whatever Rogelio was into I was also in on it up to my neck. Ever since then, Michael has been trying to trip me up, even going so far as to mislead me into believing that Rogelio had already broken and I nearly fell for it. I probably wasn't going to last too much longer so it's good that our big reveal is today.

"I'm glad Dad was so willing to help," I sigh, "I don't think I could have done it on my own. It's a big job. We're pretty much making this apartment over from scratch." As I'm speaking, I absently rub my hand over the mound of my belly because the baby has started her daily acrobatics routine and is currently wedging her feet beneath my ribs.

Mom smiles at me perceptively when I grimace my discomfort. "She's kicking again?"

"Stretching is more like it." I pull her hand over to feel the series of lazy rolls which are followed by rapid thumps of movement. Mom ooh's and ahh's in delighted surprise with each one.

"She's really strong," she says with grandmotherly pride, "Typical character trait of a Villanueva woman."

"It feels like she's running out of room in there. But it's so much worse when Michael's here. I think she recognizes his voice and she gets so excited."

"You sound happy, hon."

"I _am_ happy. If you had told me a year ago that Michael and I would be together again, I would have laughed in your face. I could not have imagined something like this." I can see that Mom is fighting back tears when she suddenly clasps me in a tight hug. "What was that for?" I ask after she finally releases me.

"Because I love you and I'm so proud of you."

"For what?"

"For knowing what you wanted and for having the courage to stick it out even when it got hard," she says, "I knew if you chose to be with Michael, it would be complicated. When he came back, it turned everything upside down and you along with it. I didn't want that for you. I thought it made more sense for you to be with Rafael…but I was wrong."

"You're just saying that because I'm pregnant and you're feeling sentimental," I tease her with a good-natured smile.

"No. I mean it, Jane. I was so excited to see you moving on with your life and falling in love again and I was so grateful that Rafael was able to give that to you."

"But…" I prompt, sensing she wants to say more.

"But after you lost Michael, you changed. I'm not saying it's a bad thing but… I lost a piece of you with him and I grieved for that. Don't get me wrong…I love the woman you've become but I've also missed the idealistic girl you used to be too. And when Michael came back, so did that part of you. _He_ did that for you. He gave you back that missing part of yourself…he gave _me_ back that part of you."

"Thank you, Mom."

"For what?" she asks, turning my earlier question to her back on me.

I blink back gathering tears. "For always knowing the right thing to say to me and for loving Michael."

"Oh, Janie, he makes it easy."

"Hey!" Dad calls, rudely interrupting our mother-daughter moment, "Are you two going to stand around all day or are you going to help me transform this hell pit?"

"Coming, Dad…" I call back with a teary laugh.

Five hours later, Michael has a brand new tv complete with wall mount, a new coffee table, side tables and lamps, two accent chairs to compliment his futon which is now decorated with several accent pillows, a real dining room set, potted plants and a half dozen wall hangings to adorn his newly painted walls. Dad has also taken it upon himself to provide Michael with a new coffeemaker, food processor and a gourmet knife set. I managed to hold him back from demolishing the kitchen cabinetry but just barely. But I am happy with the end results. It almost looks like a completely different apartment.

While Dad personally expresses his gratitude to his painters and moving team on my behalf, I fall down onto the futon for a much needed siesta. Mom drops down beside me. I fix her with a tired smile.

"You think he'll like it?"

"I think he'll love it," she reassures me, "But I still don't know why you went through all the trouble of fixing this place up when you're out of here in six months anyway. Sooner if you get married…" She leaves the last of that hanging meaningfully.

"Ma."

"I just don't understand why he's dragging his feet about it," she argues, "He loves you. Mateo loves him. You've been married before and you're giving birth to his child in three months! What exactly is his hold up? The last time he planned to propose to you, I knew about it even before he bought the ring! This time? Nada!"

"Actually, I think he's going to propose tonight," I confess with a thrill of excitement.

Her mild flash of irritation abruptly transforms into barely leashed enthusiasm. "You found the ring?"

"No. But he's been acting secretive all week and tonight he has this whole 'romantic evening' planned for us. We're going to have dinner on a yacht! You know, that dinner cruise thing they do for tourists?"

"No way. That's crazy expensive."

"I know and he wouldn't be going out like that for an ordinary date. He's going to ask me. I know it. I can feel it."

"Oh…" Mom drawls, "So no wonder you suddenly got bitten by the redecorating bug. You wanted to set up a romantic backdrop for tonight, huh?"

I favor her with a coy grin. "Maybe."

Before she can tease me about it further, I begin the process of shooing both her and Dad from the apartment. I manage to get my parents out of there a mere twenty minutes before Michael is set to arrive home. It helps that he calls to let me know he's on his way.

After taking a satisfying moment to admire all of my handiwork (well, Dad's handiwork but I assisted), I turn off all of the lamps and scramble to light the scented candles I've set out to create a romantic atmosphere. I even put on a selection of music that I know Michael likes while I debate with myself about putting on something sexy. On the one hand, it seems appropriate. On the other, I don't want to derail Michael's plans for tonight…and the marriage proposal that I'm expecting. In the end, I decide to dress for dinner instead and await his arrival on the futon.

When he steps through the door, I have an unobstructed view of his reaction when he sees the interior of his apartment and it's worth the nagging backache I developed while painting and moving around furniture today. He stumbles inside with an awed smile before becoming frozen in place while he takes it all in. And then he looks over at me with a knowing expression and a wagging finger.

"I knew you were up to something." He comes further into the apartment and drops his work bag to the floor and hangs his keys on the key hook I convinced him to buy. His smile widens considerably as he detects the gentle melodic chords of his favorite band. "Aww, and you're playing my favorite 'white boy' music too," he croons with a goofy smile, "You really _do_ love me."

"This one isn't too bad," I say with a giggle, rising to go into his waiting arms, "I actually like this song."

He kisses me sweetly and the way he looks at me right then makes me feel like the most beautiful woman on earth, like I'm the only thing in the world that exists for him. I hope he'll look at me the same way for the rest of our lives together. "So, why did you do all this? What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. I love you and I wanted to surprise you. Besides, you're not a college frat boy, Michael. You shouldn't live like one."

"It's beautiful," he breathes appreciatively, "And it has Rogelio written all over it."

"It does," I admit with a laugh, "But I supervised."

He grins at my answer. "Okay. So, give me the tour."

I start in the kitchen, acquainting him with his brand new appliances. "Dad thought you should have them," I explain, "since it's likely you'll be doing the bulk of the cooking."

"It's probably safer that way," he teases.

That crack earns him a light punch to the midsection. He yelps and dances out of my reach. "Keep it up with the cooking jokes," I warn him, shaking my fist in mock threat, "I'll come after you, Cordero."

Michael throws up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll be good. May we resume the tour, Ms. Villanueva?"

"We may."

It's not much of a tour really. There's no demarcation between the living room and the dining room so the two are actually one large room and only a small partition that separates the kitchen. Michael can stand in the living room and see every change we've made but I meticulously take him through each one anyway. When I'm done, he pulls me against him for a long, slow kiss.

"This is beyond anything I could have imagined," he says, "I have to send your father a thank you card."

"That's not going to cut it, I'm afraid. He's already called Sunday dinner…as in forever."

"Really? Every Sunday?"

"For the rest of your life," I tell him straight-faced.

"As long as we're together," he whispers, lowering his head for another kiss, "I'm good with that." But just before our lips can touch, the baby gives a particularly hard kick, hard enough for Michael to feel the impact. He rears back with a stunned smile and frames my belly in his hands. "Wow. Someone is feeling feisty. I think she just karate chopped me."

"Because she's trying to say 'hi' to her daddy and so far you've ignored her."

Dutifully, he drops down to his knees and presses a tender kiss to the center of my belly. "Hi, baby. I didn't mean to ignore you. How's my awesome girl doing today?" I'm not at all surprised when there's a thump in response. The sound of Michael's answering laugh makes me laugh too. I sift my fingers through the soft waves of his hair, marveling over how I could possibly love him so much. I didn't even know my heart had the capacity to contain such expanding emotion.

Michael must be feeling something similar because he tips his head back to regard me with a heavy-lidded stare, his expression a mixture of love, gratitude and desire. "I really want to kiss you right now," he tells me softly, "but, if I do, I'm not going to stop at kissing. I'm going to have to take off your clothes and we're going to have sex and then we'll never go to dinner."

"In that case, off to the shower with you," I reply, stepping back and assisting him to his feet, "Because I'm having dinner on a yacht tonight." It's not so much about the dinner as it is the proposal I suspect is coming but I don't need to clarify that for him. The end result is still the same.

It turns out, however, that there's a dress code for dinner on this yacht and it's black tie. I haven't dressed formally since the last time I had accompanied my father to one of his premieres. I'm not even certain I have anything to wear and, if I do, it most definitely won't fit. Fortunately, my thoughtful and clever boyfriend has already considered that problem and devised a solution.

"You're not the only one with surprises. I actually got you something," he reveals with a proud smile, "Give me a sec to go get it." He disappears back into the bedroom and I can hear him rummaging around. I'm about to ask him what he's doing when he suddenly reemerges carrying a large, white boutique box.

"Where were you hiding that?" I demand in disbelief.

"My ways are many and secret, grasshopper," he replies cheekily as he passes me the box, "Go ahead. Open it."

Requiring no further invitation than that, I eagerly flip off the top and toss it away before pawing my way through the delicate tissue paper that conceals the box contents. I gasp aloud when I pull free a strapless champagne colored evening gown with a rhinestone encrusted bodice and a long, floor length skirt made of flowing chiffon. The box falls away completely as I pull the dress against my body and twirl about with it for full effect.

"Oh my God, Michael…it's so beautiful," I sing, already half in love with it without even trying the gown on, "Did you pick this out yourself?"

"Well, sort of. Rafael helped. It's actually maternity wear if you can believe that."

It definitely wasn't something you could tell by looking at it which made me suspect that the price had been pretty steep. "Do I even want to know how much this cost?"

"Eh…" Michael hedges, "You probably don't." I groan his name in consternation but he simply shrugs as if the matter is inconsequential. "It's only money. I'll spend it how I choose and I _choose_ to spend it on you. So get over it."

"Michael, I can't. You're trying to pay for school right now. It's too expensive."

"Nope. Not hearing any of it," he says, shaking his head, "Our reservation is in an hour so, if you want to make it for dinner, I suggest you put that on so we can go."

Twenty minutes later Michael is freshly showered and we are both dressed for dinner. He is wearing a black tuxedo that seems to be perfectly tailored to fit the long, lean lines of his body. I realize that this is the first time I've ever seen him wear one. He looks so incredible, his hair brushed back from his face in glossy, dark blonde waves, his blue eyes dancing with merriment, that I almost reconsider his earlier suggestion to stay in and have sex instead. _Almost_. The prospect of a marriage proposal holds me fast.

"You look ah-mazing, dahling," I gush in an exaggerated British accent as he steps forward and does a model's catwalk, complete with sassy turn and head toss, across the living room, "Seriously, if I had known you would look so good in a tuxedo I would have made you wear one a long time ago."`

Michael responds to the compliment with a formal bow. "Thank you, milady. You look stunning as well. I knew the second I saw that dress that you would look incredible in it."

I tug self-consciously at the bodice of my gown, acutely aware of how tightly it fits around my breasts. "I don't know about that," I mumble, "It's hard to feel sexy when you have a 26 week baby bump on display."

"Trust me," Michael murmurs, tugging me closer for a quick kiss, "You're plenty sexy. In fact, I don't think you've ever been more beautiful to me, Jane."

We share several more slow, nibbling kisses, our hands meandering on a lazy trek all over each other's bodies. Yet again, I'm thinking that we should stay home in bed and Michael can propose to me there but he has other ideas. Instead, he reluctantly cuts our makeout session short and takes me to dinner just as he planned.

Seated out on the balcony together, eating dinner by candlelight with the backdrop of the sun setting over the water, I'm convinced that a proposal is imminent. The mood is set. The timing is right. Dinner is exquisite. And Michael has never been more charming. I sit there with nervous butterflies anticipating that final moment when he will drop to one knee…and it doesn't happen.

Dessert is served and we polish off our shared piece of three berry cheesecake with chocolate drizzle and still nothing. Not even a hint that he has anything planned. The server brings us our check and still Michael doesn't make a single overture. By the time we sail back to shore and disembark from the boat I'm beginning to wonder if I somehow misread his signals. Maybe this dinner was really meant just to be a romantic dinner after all.

But I am once again rethinking that conclusion when Michael suggests that we take a walk on the beach together rather than returning straight to the car. The waves spill across our bare feet and washes wet, sifting granules of sand over and between our toes as we stroll hand in hand under the twinkling night sky. We dance and play in the foamy surf, mostly impervious to our evening wear as we chase one another through the crashing waves and laugh like children.

Still, in the back of my mind, I continue to wait for Michael to make his move. Every time he bends down to examine a seashell or he stoops to inspect something in the shifting sand, I feel my heart leap into my throat. But it's never what I'm thinking at all and it's difficult not to feel disappointed in spite of how wonderfully the evening has gone.

When the times comes for him to take me home, I've moved past disappointment and straight into annoyance. I'm sulking. As I stare out the window, watching blindly as houses zip by in a dizzying blur, I ponder how I could have possibly gotten it so wrong. Part of me wants to ask him about it, wants to understand how I could have been so completely off base. But another part of me, a larger part, thinks that I should keep quiet and sit tight. What if I confront him about it and thereby ruin his carefully constructed surprise? I don't want to take the chance, so I continue to sit…and wait.

"Everything okay, Jane?"

His question startles me from my troubled thoughts. "Yeah. Why?"

"You seem distracted…ever since dinner," he says, "Are you upset because I decided to take you home tonight? You know I would rather you spend the night but I've got a big midterm tomorrow and I'll never get any studying done with you there."

 _So much for carefully constructed surprise._ I'm mindful to conceal my irritation and frustration, however, when I say, "Sure. I completely understand." I'm beginning to wonder if he's changed his mind about marrying me altogether and the possibility stings beyond belief. It's conceivable that he doesn't see the need to get married again.

After all, we're together. We're having sex. We're expecting a baby. It's practically marriage without the actual legal paperwork and financial entanglements. Maybe that's enough for Michael. But, as I think about it, it's not enough for me. I want the legal aspect of it as well. I want the financial entanglements. I want my life to be inextricably linked with his, not be together while also maintaining our separate existences. In short, I want to be his wife again and I want _him_ to be my husband.

That we might not be on the same page about that makes me ache inside. I want nothing more than to run into the house and lick my wounds right then so when Michael pulls up the car in front of the house, I am throwing open the door to exit before he's even put the vehicle in park. I jump out of the car and start marching up the walk without a backwards glance. Behind me, I hear the car door open and shut, a good indication that Michael is following me but I don't falter in my step until he calls my name. Even then, I don't turn to face him though I do remain frozen in place.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lie. The fact that I continue to keep my back to him makes that lie rather obvious too.

"Really? Nothing? You're not even going to turn around and look at me, Jane?" he coaxes gently.

The question and his oblivious response infuriates me into action. I whip around to face him, fully prepared to demand that he make his intentions for me known right that second but the words stick in my throat. I discover him down on one knee before me, his mouth turned up in a knowing smirk. Tears of outrage and happiness immediately spring to my eyes.

"You jerk!" I admonish him softly, "You knew the entire time that I was waiting for you to propose to me and you misled me on purpose!"

His smile widens, thoroughly absent of contrition. "Well, it's not much of a surprise if you see it coming," he reasons, "Besides, this is like the 900th time I've proposed to you." I burst out laughing then and I almost miss what he has to say next when I do. "I've got to keep you on your toes." He reaches into his pocket then and pulls out the velvet box that I have been anticipating all night. "And now that I have your attention…"

"Yes!" I blurt before he can even ask the question.

"Nope. Not this time," he admonishes me laughingly, "I've been practicing this speech for a week now so you're going to let me ask!"

With a laugh, I quickly whisk away the tears falling on my cheeks and compose myself with a deep breath. "Okay. I'm ready. Go ahead."

"So, this feels a bit unnecessary in the grand scheme of things," he begins softly, "We've been married before. And, the legality aside, I've been married to you in my heart for a long time now but I suppose that's the reason this proposal has been a forgone conclusion since the moment I finally surrendered my heart to you and acknowledged the truth. I'm still in love with you. I'm always going to be in love with you, Jane.

"And I can't imagine anyone else as my life partner. You're the one I want to spend forever with and you always have been. So, no matter what happens, no matter how many times we come together or pull apart, I will always ask you this question and I'll keep asking it because it's you. It's always been you. Today, tomorrow, in this life and the next." He lifts the velvet top then to reveal the gleaming, platinum and diamond engagement ring inside. "Jane Villanueva, for the nine hundredth and _first_ time and hopefully the last, will you please marry me?"

"Yes, Michael!" I cry, lurching forward to throw myself into his waiting arms and peppering his face with tearful kisses. "Yes! Yes! YES! The answer will _always_ be yes!"


	36. Chapter 35

**A/N: One more chapter and the epilogue after this. Thanks for sticking with me, peeps.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Five (Michael POV)**

My mom barges past me into the apartment practically bristling with rage as soon as I open the door. She doesn't even spare me a greeting. I already know why she's angry and that's long before she whips around on me and begins brandishing the small envelope beneath my nose. I recognize Jane's neat penmanship on the face of it quite easily.

"Would you mind explaining to me what this is?"

"A wedding invitation," I answer her slowly, because that should have very well been obvious if she had read the card. And I know that she read the card. She wouldn't have driven all the way from Fort Myer in morning rush hour traffic if she hadn't.

"I know it's a wedding invitation, Michael!" she snaps, "When did this happen? You told me that you and Jane were expecting a baby, not that you were planning to marry her again, much less planning to marry her _tomorrow_!"

"Why are you acting so shocked?"

"Maybe because I am!" she snaps back irritably.

"Well, Mom…when two people love each other they tend to want to spend their lives together. Jane and I are no different."

Not much time has passed since I proposed to Jane, less than two weeks actually but neither of us saw any reason to delay in getting married. We both agreed that a small, civil ceremony surrounded by those nearest and dearest to us would be enough, especially because we've already done the big, formal wedding in the past. Besides, to us, we are merely reinforcing the vows we've already made to each other, not making new ones.

Alba has already generously offered her living room for the intimate ceremony. And Jane, my beautiful, amazing, shrewd fiancée, is still surprising me. Apparently, she has the legal authority to perform marriage ceremonies now and she will be the one officiating ours even while she's participating in it as well. When Jane first made the suggestion to me, I was concerned that such a thing might not be legally binding but she assured me that as long as she had all the proper paperwork (and she did because this is Jane after all) everything would be fine.

With the venue and officiant taken care of and Xo volunteering to provide the refreshments for the guests, there really hadn't been any reason for us to wait. Jane and I promptly mailed out informal invitations to those whom we wanted to attend. The list was an incredibly small one. My father, her parents and grandmother, Rafael and his girlfriend, Petra and her girlfriend plus the twins. Jane had also invited Lina but, as of yet, we didn't expect she would be able to make it on such short notice. And of course Mateo being there went without saying.

Given the circumstances and how much Jane and I had endured to be together again, you'd think my mother could finally get onboard. Even my dad had eventually started to come around when he learned about Jane's pregnancy but my mom dug in her heels. From her point of view, Jane "abandoned" me in my greatest time of need after I learned of Lorena's betrayal and was reeling emotionally. She thinks that Jane is unreliable and unworthy of my love.

I'm not oblivious to where she's coming from. After all, she had witnessed firsthand the deep depression into which I'd sunk after Jane cut me off…but she wrongly blamed Jane for every bit of it. It was true that I had been devastated by Jane's rejection but I had also been dealing with the return of painful memories related to my captivity, Lorena's betrayal and the realization that I was capable of some rather brutal violence.

My entire life had spun out of control and I was a wreck but for more reasons than simple heartbreak. Still, it was easier for Mom to lay the sole blame at Jane's feet than to admit that I wouldn't have been any good to Jane back then. Her animosity towards my future wife didn't even lighten when she learned about the impending birth of her grandchild. If anything, she became even more adamant. Her strong feelings are exactly the reason her invitation had gone out late.

I watch as she angrily prowls the living room carpet and I don't know if that's because she's trying to give herself a minute to calm down or if she's about to go on a full-fledged rant. When she gradually becomes aware of the stack of moving boxes in both my living and dining rooms, however, I can tell that it is definitely going to be the latter. She pins me with a surprised glower.

"You're moving already?" she gasps in an almost disbelieving tone, "But I thought your lease wasn't up for another six months."

"It's not. I'm breaking it and paying the penalty. I told you this already. Jane and I found a house for rent about fifteen minutes away from my job. Do you not remember us having this conversation?"

"Can you blame me for feeling a little disoriented? This is all moving so fast!"

"Mom, I've been in love with Jane for almost a quarter of my _entire_ lifetime. I married her once before. We're having a baby now. How any of this is surprising to you is beyond me."

"Don't you patronize me, Michael Donovan Cordero, Jr.," she warns me with a narrowed glare, "I am still your mother."

"I know that!" I retort, "That's the only reason I'm not kicking you out right now!"

She jerks to attention, as if surprised that I've taken such a hard line with her. Truthfully, I'm a little surprised by it too. When Jane first suggested sending my mother an invitation to our wedding, I had initially dismissed the idea. I already knew how she felt about Jane and about my relationship with her and I didn't want to deal with the dramatics that were sure to come when she learned Jane and I were getting remarried. But now I don't have much of a choice, so I decide to simply lay it out for her.

"This is what's going to happen, Mom," I begin evenly, "Tomorrow, I am going to marry Jane. Find a way to accept that or not but I want you to keep something in mind. If you don't accept it, you're not only alienating Jane but me as well… _and_ your granddaughter. Is that what you want?"

Mom blinks at me in flustered shock. "That's emotional blackmail, Michael."

"No. It's a statement of facts. What kind of relationship do you imagine you'll have with your grandchild if you're hating on her mother?"

"My feelings are valid, Michael."

"I'm not saying they aren't," I acknowledge softly, "I'm asking you to let them go. If not for my sake then for my daughter's."

"It's not right. Jane doesn't deserve you."

I throw back my head with a heavy groan. "What does that even mean?" I cry out in frustration, "What makes her undeserving? Am I such a catch? I'm an emotionally fragile government official who suffers from PTSD and is in debt up to my neck. She's not exactly getting a prize with me, Mom."

"You know what I mean," she mutters stubbornly, "Jane doesn't love you the way that _you_ love her."

"I think she loves me just fine. I don't feel deprived."

"Michael!"

"Mom! She's it for me. Whether you think she's good enough or not, _she is it_. I don't want to be with anybody else and I never will."

She slumps forward in defeat, her breath escaping her in a weary grunt. "So, you're really going to marry her?"

"I'm _really_ going to marry her."

"Well, then…" she begins with a deep sigh and I'm fully expecting her to make some speech about being unable to accept my choice. I steel myself against the pain and disappointment that I know is coming, waiting for her to issue an ultimatum or, even worse, walk out of my life for good. But she doesn't do any of that. Instead, she says, "…okay. I'll be there tomorrow."

I guess I don't realize just how much I was hoping for my mother's acceptance until I'm driving into work and that old, familiar knot of anxiety isn't sitting in the pit of my stomach while I do. It feels like I've cleared the last major hurdle on my way to happily ever after with Jane. There is nothing else to hold us back now. No potential would-be kidnappers or defiant children or jealous exes or disapproving parents. Tomorrow, I'm going to marry the woman of my dreams and then we're going away for a week long honeymoon in Puerto Rico…and this time _no one_ is getting shot.

My resulting good mood carries me throughout the majority of my morning. I'm so laidback that even the criminals that we arrest that day remark on it. But, try as I might, I cannot blast the cheesy grin off my face because I'm so damned happy. For the first time in a very long time, I am absolutely happy and secure in my future. I have everything I want and, surprisingly, I'm not waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Sisquo and I are in the field, on our way to question a suspect in a robbery ring, when my cell phone vibrates and Jane's face pops up on the viewscreen. I check the automatic impulse to answer it immediately and slide an apologetic glance over at my partner. He grunts an accommodating laugh.

"Make it quick, Cordero. You're on the clock."

"Hey, babe," I say when I answer the call, "What's up?"

"I know you're probably in the middle of something…"

I dart a furtive glance over at Sisquo. His eyes are on the road ahead of us but I have no doubt that he's listening to every word I say. "Yeah…" I reply, "Sort of. But you sound frazzled. What's going on?"

"Your mom just called me and asked if I would like to go to lunch with her!"

The news brings me instant elation because it's far more than I dreamed to hope for following my early morning conversation with my mother. "That's great! I'm glad you two are starting to get along again."

"This afternoon, Michael," Jane stresses, sounding panicked, "She wants to go out to lunch _this afternoon_ as in the next ten minutes."

"Oh."

"It's too soon. I can't have lunch with her _today_! I'm not prepared."

"You're having lunch together not planning for a duel at dawn. Relax. You'll be fine," I reassure her, "Besides, I spoke to my mom this morning and I told her that, if she wanted to have a relationship with her grandchild, she'd have to find a way to get along with you."

"So you blackmailed her into spending time with me?"

"What? No! Why does everyone keep calling it that?"

"Because that's what it is," Jane argues stridently, "I don't want your mom offering me friendship because she feels like she has a gun to her head…metaphorically speaking, of course. I don't want to be something she has to endure while gritting her teeth!"

"That's not what she's doing."

"Right," Jane sings back in obvious skepticism.

"Does it really matter why she's reaching out to you?" I ask softly, "The point is, whatever her motivation, she's trying. Can't you try a little too?"

We can't really discuss the subject much longer because Ryan and I have finally reached our suspect's home so I have to tell her goodbye. Other than a few cryptic texts that mostly consist of expressive emojis, I don't hear from Jane again until late that evening, long after I've stripped off my clothes, showered and climbed into bed for the night. I'm actually reaching for my phone to text her when it rings.

"You're calling me so that means you're not dead," I say in lieu of greeting, "I suppose that means that lunch with my mom went well."

"Yes, surprisingly. It wasn't nearly the disaster I was expecting. She actually left less than an hour ago."

"You spent the day together?"

"We spent the day together and it was actually sort of pleasant."

I'm not at all shocked by the admission because underneath all of the emotional bullshit my mother and Jane have always really liked one another. But I wisely refrain from telling her I told you so. Instead, I snuggle deeper into the bed covers and ask, "So how did it go?"

"She wanted to make sure I wasn't still hung up on Rafael."

In my mind's eye I can imagine Mom asking that question and the blunt, brusque way she likely went about it. I groan aloud. "Please tell me that she, at least, led into that discussion gently."

"Nope. It was pretty much the first thing she said to me when I approached the table for lunch."

"Great."

"It's really okay, Michael," she's quick to soothe me, "I totally understand why she asked. I have a child with Rafael. We've had an on again off again relationship that's sort of hung around in the background for more than half a decade. And, most importantly, he's the reason we broke up all those years ago."

"He's not the reason," I dispute grimly, " _I_ was the reason…because I wasn't honest with you and I let my insecurity and jealousy cloud my judgment. I let it twist me into something I wasn't. Our breakup is on me, not him."

"Well maybe not on Rafael but not just on you either. I wasn't being honest with you," she whispers, "I should have told you that I had feelings for him back then."

"It wouldn't have made a difference. I would have hurt either way."

"I'll always regret my decision to break our engagement back then, Michael. In hindsight, I realize that I should have stuck it out, tried to work it out with you. I was too quick to throw away everything we had together and that was stupid. I was stupid."

"We don't have to talk about it, Jane," I tell her gruffly. That emotional wound, while mostly healed, still remains a tender, sensitive subject for me. I don't like to think about it. I certainly don't want to talk about it but Jane evidently doesn't feel the same.

"But I want to talk about it," she insists softly, "Because sometimes I feel like that day on the docks when I gave you back your ring is still between us and I don't want it to be. It shouldn't be because it's the past and it has no bearing on what happened between Rafael and I after I thought you died. None of that matters now. We can finally put it behind us for good."

Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm voicing my most deep seated insecurity aloud. "Is it _really_ behind us though, Jane?"

I can't deny that her relationship with Rafael continues to nag at me a little. It's not the all-consuming jealousy that it had once been but I do still struggle with a tiny bit of insecurity. Even with all the progress we've made, even with the absolute knowledge that her heart is mine, there is a tiny sliver of doubt that remains. I can't forget that she ended our relationship once just to be with him. And I can't forget that, when I was presumed dead, she gravitated right back into his arms again.

Even now, in spite of their breakup and the lingering tension between them, the bond that they share is enduring. Rafael knows Jane down to her soul, in some ways even better than I do and that knowledge is unsettling to me. Jane cherishes Rafael's friendship dearly. And, if her affection for him had bled over into romantic feelings, not once but twice before, who is to say that it can't happen again?

What happens if I screw up in some way or disappoint her? What if periodically our marriage grows stagnant or we experience a rough patch? Will she suddenly start looking at Rafael with heart eyes again? Wouldn't I be naïve to think that, under the right circumstances, their friendship couldn't or wouldn't bloom into something more? Once again, I'm uttering my uncertainty out loud before I even take a moment to filter what I'm going to say.

"Michael?" And I can tell my the trembling way she whispers my name that my confessed misgivings hurt her. "Is that really what you think?"

"Most of the time, it's not," I reply honestly, "Usually it's not even a thought in my head but there are rare occasions when I do wonder and I get scared. I'd rather walk away from you now than to _ever_ go through that again, Jane."

"Oh, Michael…" she breathes tearfully, "You don't have to be scared. This is as much a lifetime commitment to me as it is to you."

"I'm not saying that it's not. But I think my concerns are valid," I argue, "It's not like you have to worry about me turning to another woman, with whom I have tons of romantic history and also share a child. Sometimes, the bond you share with Rafael is intimidating."

"So is the bond _we_ share," she counters, "And it was there long before we made a baby, even before we fell in love. It was there from the moment we met, when I opened my front door and saw you standing there. I knew you were going to change my life. And you did."

"I felt the same way about you. In that moment, I knew you were it. I just knew."

"Then you know that you have nothing to worry about," she replies, finality in her tone, "I'm going to tell you the same thing I told your mom this afternoon and I want you to hear me because I don't want to be having this same discussion for the next fifty years, okay."

"Okay. I'm listening."

"I would _not_ be marrying you tomorrow if I didn't know absolutely without question that you are the man I want. And you are. You always have been. I _am_ marrying you tomorrow, Michael Cordero, so you'd better be ready to spend forever with me."

The rigidity seeps from my body with her reassurance and prompts my wry smile. "I'm ready."

"Good. So, can we please set aside all this talk about the past and concentrate on what really matters? Our wedding, for instance."

"Right," I say, acknowledging the mild censure in her tone with a smile and dutifully changing the subject as requested. "I have the rings and my suit and our plane tickets. The resort is booked and our arrival time is two days from now. Check in is after 3:00 p.m. So, everything on my end is taken care of. Do you want me to drop by the house early tomorrow and help set up?"

"No! You are well aware that the groom _cannot_ see the bride before the wedding!" she scolds me, "Are you trying to bring us bad juju?"

"But does it really count if we've been married before?"

"It counts. Abuela, Mom and Dad will set up for tomorrow. _You_ will stay away until I give you the go ahead. Is that understood?"

"Aye, aye Captain!"

She clicks her tongue in satisfaction. "Now then, I have all of the necessary paperwork and we can sign all of the documents tomorrow after the service."

"How exactly is you marrying us going to work if you're also part of the ceremony?"

"Don't worry. I've got a plan. I may occasionally need to address myself and you in the third person but I've got it covered."

"Yeah, because that's not weird at all," I mumble, "Are you sure we can't hire someone outside?"

"I'm sorry. Do you doubt my abilities? It's not like I'm inexperienced. I will have you know that I have already married one couple."

"Performing your grandmother's green card wedding does not count, babe."

"Trust me. I have a plan," she stresses yet again, "I'll give a speech at the beginning, we'll say our vows in the middle and I'll pronounce us at the end. Easy peasy."

"And then we'll be married," I conclude with a soft, sentimental sigh.

"And then we'll be married," she echoes with equal sentimentality, "Just think, this time tomorrow we'll be saying goodnight to each other as husband and wife."

My smile stretches so wide that my cheeks actually ache. "I can't wait."

"Neither can I."

We stay on the phone until the early morning, neither of us wanting or willing to say goodnight. For hours we talk about everything and nothing, we banter about potential names for our unborn daughter, speculate on how tall Mateo will be, discuss the mundane details of our future household budget and childishly attempt to outdo one another in a burping contest. Eventually though, drowsiness and the awareness that we must be up again in the next few hours compels us to reluctantly end the call. I close my eyes immediately after hanging up, my last thought before drifting off being that I will never have to sleep without her next to me again. Tomorrow marks the first day of the rest of our lives together.

The next morning I wake up feeling surprisingly well rested despite having gotten less than four hours of sleep. Even the overcast day can't spoil my mood with its gray gloominess because I am marrying to love of my life today. It could thunder and hail on my head right now and all I would see are clear, blue skies.

Whistling a jaunty tune to myself, I carefully lay out my suit, dress shirt and tie and then head off for a shower. I don't usually take a lot of time getting dressed but today I'm fairly unhurried about it because I want to look my absolute best. An hour later I am dressed, groomed and in the process of knotting my tie when I receive an incoming text message from Jane. I smile to myself as I read it.

 _You on your way now?_

I chuckle over her obvious impatience. _I thought I was supposed to wait for your marching orders, General._

 _You have them. Now get here ASAP._

 _The ceremony isn't supposed to start for another four hours._ Her response to that is a series of question marks, as if to say, "And that's relevant to this discussion how?" I laugh again and peck out another response. _I've got to stop for a haircut and then I'm heading your way._

 _Don't cut too much! I'm starting to dig that floppy look you've got going._

 _Will do, soon-to-be-wife._ There is a significant pause after I send that message and I'm certain it's because she's crying. Her next reply confirms it.

 _I love you so much, soon-to-be-husband._

 _Love you too. I'll see you soon._

I drop into the barbershop a few blocks from my apartment because I'm sure I can get in and out due to the early hour and fewer customers. My assumption is correct. There is only one other customer besides me in the shop and I almost snort out loud at the irony when I notice who it is. Rafael. I stop in my tracks when I see him in the barber's chair, already halfway through his own haircut.

Rafael rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Don't tell me we have the same barber too."

"You can relax. I'm a walk in."

An awkward silence pervades the space between us after that. While our interactions have gotten much better since Jane's medical scare with the baby, Rafael and I are still a very long way from being totally at ease in each other's company. But it's not so much that Jane is between us now so much as it is our own volatile history with each other. He has plenty of reasons to resent me and I have just as many reasons to resent him. It's been difficult moving past all of that old bitterness but we have been trying…and not because we have to either. We've been trying because we _want_ to.

"You're still going to be there this afternoon, right?" I ask him, finally breaking the silence. He's dressed in a suit and tie but I don't want to presume.

"Of course. It can only get easier watching you marry Jane a second time, I'm sure."

"You'll manage," I reply, unwilling to indulge him in his "poor me" routine, "You've got your hot, new girlfriend to help ease the pain."

"That is true." A faint smile softens his otherwise somber expression. "Did I ever thank you for setting us up, by the way?"

"Yeah, not exactly how it went down but go with that, Solano."

It had been nothing near a set up. He had dropped by the station one night to confirm the schedule for Mateo's upcoming karate tournament and my partner's youngest daughter also happened to drop in at the same time. She and Rafael were instantly taken with one another as insanely pretty people usually are and then proceeded to flirt with each other shamelessly for fifteen, mind-numbing minutes less than five feet from my desk. I was forced to hear every double entendre, every breathy sigh, every girlish giggle. It was nauseating.

Still, despite the discomfort it had caused me, I was glad that Rafael was throwing himself back into the dating scene, if for no other reason than it would help to lessen Jane's guilt about leaving him. Perhaps it's not the most noble line of thinking but I never claimed to be a saint. Besides, I'm a practical guy. Rafael finding a girlfriend doesn't only need to benefit him. I'm good with reaping the byproducts as well.

"I'm assuming you're bringing her to the ceremony," I say.

"That's the plan."

"Good. I'm glad you two are getting along." I mean the words sincerely.

"She's great. Really great actually. Smart, ambitious, beautiful…and I'm not just saying all of this to save face either. I really like her."

"I'm not surprised to hear that. She is your type, after all."

"And you're suddenly an expert on the women I find attractive? What type would that be exactly?"

"The Petra type. Intelligent and stunning but dangerous. They're the ones you seem to gravitate towards."

He smirks at my answer. "Then how would you explain Jane?"

"She's dangerous too but in a different way. Dangerous for your heart but not so much for your head."

"Hmm… Maybe that's the reason I've had such a difficult time getting over what happened with me and her…and you."

"Maybe. I know that's why _I_ had a hard time getting over it."

The entire time we've been talking, Rafael's barber has continued to work efficiently, never once acknowledging our conversation. However, I suddenly begin to wonder what he must be thinking to have two men deeply discussing the emotional facets of their love life in an exchange that has serious undercurrents of tension. His expression betrays nothing, however.

Suddenly self-conscious, I say a little too loudly, "I'm glad you have a girlfriend now, Rafael, because I am in love with Jane, who is also _a girl_."

Rafael blinks at me as if he thinks I've lost it, clearly unaware of the problematic nature of the subject matter being discussed. "Okay." He peers at me speculatively for a moment. "Are you sure my being with Kate isn't a problem for you?"

"Why would it be a problem? You're dating my partner's daughter. So what? Go right ahead with that. Who cares if it's a little awkward for me at times? Just stop making out at my desk because I can do without that."

"If I can resign myself to the fact that you're marrying my ex-fiancée and the mother of my child then I'm sure you can get used to me dating Kate," he counters mildly.

I refrain from pointing out to him that Jane is also the mother of _my_ child because what's the point of getting into a pissing contest with him? I also bite back the urge to tell him how pretentious he sounds for a similar reason. "Kate? Since when did it become 'Kate' instead of 'Katie?'"

"Since that's what she prefers to be called and she's not seven years old anymore," Rafael retorts.

Properly chastened, I throw up my hands in genial surrender. "Okay. I get it. She's your girlfriend so you know her better. My bad for being a jackass."

"That's okay," Rafael replies, another self-satisfied smirk forming at the corners of his mouth, "I'm used to it. That is your natural state of being after all."

It seems that after managing to maintain his professional demeanor for most of Rafael's haircut, this last statement of Rafael's is finally enough to shake his composure and he snorts out a loud laugh. The instant he does, he immediately claps his hand over his mouth, as if incredulous that the sound had actually come from him. And then he slowly swings his eyes around to me, his expression a mixture of horror and barely contained amusement.

"I'm sorry, sir," he tells me, struggling to reign in his hilarity, "Someone should be over to assist you shortly."

"Can you make it quick?" Rafael asks, surprising me, "My friend is getting married today."

"Really?" I challenge after his barber leaves to call for someone to help me, "Is that what we are now?"

"I thought that was the plan," he reminds me.

"True. But I also figured that this day might not be so easy for you so…"

"…Maybe you wouldn't be my favorite person?"

"Right."

"Cordero, you're _never_ going to be my favorite person," he says, "But, you make Jane happy. You make my kid happy. And that alone is enough to earn my respect."

"Thanks."

"I'm not saying we're going to have sleepovers and braid each other's hair-,"

"—I sure hope to hell not-,"

"—but I have every confidence that we can get along with each other," he finishes determinedly, "because we're family now, like it or not. You're in on the Saturday brunches so it's official. And family sticks together…no matter what."


	37. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty-Six (Jane POV)**

"Is he here yet?"

Mom growls at me, as my sudden fidgeting causes her to misapply my eyeliner and nearly poke my eye out in the process. When I complain, she tosses the eyeliner pencil down onto my bed in frustration and says, "It's your own damned fault. You won't sit still."

Fearful of the consequences of moving too much again, I blindly grope around on my nightstand for a tissue to dab my watering eye. "Seriously, Mom? It's my wedding day and you nearly blinded me."

"Again…hold still."

"I just don't know why it's taking Michael so long to get here," I lament petulantly, "Where the hell is that barbershop? Timbuktu?" It's only the fifteenth time I've grumbled about it in the last fifteen minutes (which works out to once every minute I know) and not a thing has changed. It's certainly not helping Michael to arrive any faster. But that doesn't stop me from whining about it again and again.

"You know where he is, Janie," Mom reminds me from behind her clenched teeth, " _He's getting a haircut!_ When it's done, he'll be here! Geez! Now keep still so I can finish or are you wanting to look like a member K.I.S.S. on your wedding day?"

"Fine," I grate, relaxing my face so that she can resume applying my makeup.

Although her sympathy is sorely lacking at this time, I can understand why my mother is irritated with me. I know I am being just the tiniest bit obsessive right now. More than an hour ago, I texted Michael to get an update on his location and estimated time of arrival. He had informed me that he had gotten held up at the barbershop with Rafael of all people but that he would be finished shortly. Naturally then, I had assumed that when he and Rafael arrived they would arrive _together_. But when Rafael showed up and informed me that Michael was _still_ in the barber's chair, I started to feel a little anxious.

Inevitably, especially in light of our most recent conversation, I begin to wonder whether there might be an underlying reason for Michael's dawdling. Is it possible that he might be having second thoughts? As happy as I am right now, I can't dismiss his confession that he still harbors doubts about me and Rafael. Even after all we've been through and all the promises we've made to each other, he still thinks I might have romantic feelings for another man. I suppose I'm glad he was willing to share his fears with me but, at the same time, I'm thrown.

Of course, he did his best to reassure me that his doubts were fleeting and unimportant in the grand scheme of things but that isn't how it _feels_ to me. I'm suddenly wondering about how he perceives my relationship with Rafael all over again. I don't want him to regard our friendship with suspicion, to constantly side-eye any interaction we might have. I don't want him to spend the entirety of our marriage waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I certainly don't want him to ever regret loving me.

But I know there's really nothing I can say to convince Michael to trust fully in our love. That confidence will only be gained with time and distance but I wish he didn't have those misgivings at all. I wish he could look into my heart somehow because then he could see that he is the only man that occupies it. But he can't do that and, even if he could, it still wouldn't change my feelings about Rafael. This time, I can't tell Michael that I regret falling in love with him again because I don't, which makes the situation doubly hard.

At least the first time around, I had been ashamed of that attraction. I had wanted to take back making that choice to leave Michael altogether. It had been one, colossal mistake that I had wished had never happened. This time, however, I feel differently. Even though I'm no longer in love with Raf, I'm still grateful for his presence in my life and the friendship that bloomed because of it. I'm not ashamed of having fallen in love with him a second time or coming to know the man he's become. In many ways, it was one of the best things that had ever happened to me…and I can completely understand why that might be a sticking point for Michael.

If I were in his place I know I would feel the same way. The only reason I can breathe easy on that front is because Lorena Diaz turned out to be the ultimate fraud. But if she had proven to be to Michael what Rafael is to me, I'm sure the knowledge would have gutted me a little.

So, I realize that there is nothing I can say to truly reassure him. I can tell him over and over again that he is the only one I want but a tiny part of him might always wonder because my history with Rafael is so rich and layered. And even though I've made an effort to maintain some distance between Raf and I because I know that our friendship can't be quite what it had been before, I also know that doing so hasn't aided in reassuring Michael. He probably thinks that I'm pulling back because I'm afraid of my feelings when the truth is, I pulled back because I want _him_ to be all the things to me that Rafael had once been.

I want Michael to know in every possible way that he is my future and the one I choose to be with but not at the expense of diminishing my past with Rafael. I can't cut him out of my life. Even if I wanted to, we share a child and a wealth of experiences together that cannot be easily forgotten. My connection to him feels almost as deep as my connection to Michael, albeit in different ways. It's a difficult situation to be in and I'm not all that sure how I should handle it or how I can put Michael's mind at ease. What I _do_ know for sure is that I don't want to lose him and if the ultimatum were laid down, I _would_ choose him. But I don't want it to come to that.

My thoughts are very jumbled in my head. I don't realize that I'm starting to tear up at the thought until my mom suddenly drops her hand and leans back to regard me with a concerned frown. "I didn't get your eye again, did I?"

"No," I say, rapidly blinking back the forming tears, "It's fine. Are you finished?"

She frowns, her uncanny ability to pick up on the subtle shifts in my mood still as keen as they had been when I was a little girl. "What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," I brazen.

"Jane, talk to me. Why do you look like you're about to cry and I'm not talking happy tears either?"

"You're wrong." The telltale quaver in my words relays a different story.

"Jane," Mom says in that singsong tone she uses when I'm beginning to try her patience, "Tell me what's wrong with you."

"Michael and I talked on the phone last night."

"And?"

"And he admitted to me that he still has doubts about me and Rafael."

She doesn't say anything to that and I realize it's because she's clearly not shocked by the news. Instead, she's staring at me in expectation, as if she's waiting for me to provide juicier details and when she realizes that there are none to be had, she has a difficult time masking her incredulity. " _That's_ why you're upset?"

"You don't think that's enough? My future husband thinks I have the hots for another man. I'd say that's plenty reason to be upset, Ma!"

"Oh please," Mom snorts, "Michael will be okay. The man has survived worse things! He can deal with a little insecurity. Besides, he knows you want him, Jane. You're marrying him after all."

"But I don't want him to doubt me."

"Sweetheart, you and Michael have been through a traumatic experience together," she explains to me gently, "and, of course, that changed you both in a profound way. He has to deal with knowing that you loved someone else during the time the two of you were separated and so do you. Trust me. You're going to find your balance again."

"But it wasn't just 'someone else,' Ma. It was Rafael, the man that I broke his heart to be with. And my feelings for him were real."

"And Michael knew all of that before he proposed to you again. That tells me that he knows that you love him and that he's trying to work through his feelings about Rafael. So give him time to do that and to make peace with what happened in his own mind."

"But shouldn't he have already made peace with it?" I reason, "Should we really get married with something like this hanging over us?"

"Are you saying you want to call it off?" Mom asks me, aghast by the very idea.

"No. I would never do that! But I also don't want Michael to spend our entire marriage waiting for me to cheat on him with Rafael!"

"I seriously doubt that's what he expects, Jane. Give him some credit…and give yourself some credit too. Marriage is a commitment and a process. You're going to hit bumps and snags along the way. Work through it together."

"But this is a bump I thought we had already smoothed over. What if it never goes away?"

"Do you really believe that?" she demands.

I don't really have to ponder the question very long because I don't. Not even remotely. I know that Michael and I can work our way through anything and I tell her that. "So then embrace that confidence," she advises me, "Today is your wedding day. You are marrying the man that you love. You're expecting a baby with him. These are all good things, Jane, so keep focused on that. Invest in your marriage and your future with Michael and the rest will come."

Overwhelmed with gratitude, I cover her hand with my own and give her fingers a hard squeeze. "Thank you, Mom. When did you get so wise?"

"Near death experience. I wouldn't recommend it."

We're still laughing together when Abuela pokes her head into my bedroom. "Is Michael here?" I ask anxiously as she slips inside.

"No, aún no. Es Petra Solano y su novia." Abuela looks incredibly flustered as she makes the statement. "¿Por qué no me dijiste que Petra estaba saliendo con una mujer?"

"I didn't want to shock you," I reply lamely, "Are you okay?"

"No me corresponde a mí juzgar, pero me sorprendió. Una pequeña advertencia habría sido agradable."

"Sorry about that, Abuela."

She wrings her hands anxiously. "¿Crees que Michael estará aquí pronto? Su madre y Rafael confinados a la misma habitación por un período prolongado de tiempo no parecen una buena idea."

"I'll text him again and see where he is."

But when I twist around on my bed to grab my phone I see that I have a text message from him already, sent approximately 20 minutes ago and I missed it. _Pulling out of the parking lot now. Will be there in half an hour._ "He should be here in 10 minutes," I tell my mother and grandmother.

"Then we don't have much time," Mom says, whipping me back around to face her, "Let's finish your makeup."

Mom is in the middle of applying my lip liner when we hear heightened activity from the front of the house, indicating that Michael has finally arrived. I breathe a small sigh of relief when I detect the muffled strains of his voice. Meanwhile, Mom quickly shifts to her feet.

"You can finish up in here. Mom and I will go out there and get everyone in place while you do," she tells me, "Will you be okay?"

I smile at her, my heart calm at last. I suppose all I really needed was Michael's presence to finally settle. That's not so different from how it has always been for me. "I'll be okay. Go on."

When I'm finally alone, I rise from my bed and go over to contemplate my reflection in the full length mirror. I actually feel beautiful right now. My hair is hair drawn back from my face in thick, glossy waves and secured with a dainty, floral clip, tumbling down my back and over my shoulders. My white, bohemian style gown is understated, yet elegant, accentuating the curves of my pregnant body in a way that makes me feel elegant too…which is no small feat these days as my pregnancy advances. I hold myself with queenly confidence because I don't have a single doubt in my mind that today is my first step towards happily ever after. I don't have a single doubt about what my future holds.

All this time, I'd believed that I had changed irrevocably after Michael's "death." In retrospect though, I'm not so different from the woman he married all those years ago. I'm a little older, a little wiser, a little more jaded about life but in my heart I am still a hopeless romantic. I still believe in meant to be and my meant to be has always been Michael. I knew that when we first began but I forgot for a little while along the way. So did Michael, I suppose, but we both eventually came back to that truth. It's just as I told my mother earlier. I know we're going to make it because we've always been stronger together than we are apart.

With that resolve embedded firmly in my heart, I finally make my exit. As I make my way down the hallway, I vaguely register the small group of guests who have come to witness our ceremony, Petra, Jane and the girls, Rafael and his new girlfriend, Michael's parents and my own, my abuela as well. But my eyes are firmly fixed on the man I'm going to marry and my son whom he is balancing in his arms and tickling mercilessly. I watch them laugh together for a moment, just taking it in, realizing with growing wonder and gratitude that I'm going to have this for the rest of my life before finally making my presence known.

Michael slowly sets Mateo back down on his feet, too awestruck to say a single word but Mateo isn't nearly as tongue tied. "Wow, Mommy!" he exclaims, "You look just like a princess."

"A princess who swallowed a watermelon," I tease him, smoothly both my hands down the slope of my rounded abdomen.

"Yeah," my son agrees without reservation, "But you still look really pretty." He tips his small, gamin face up at Michael, who still has yet to say a word. "Don't you think she looks pretty, Michael?"

I don't need him to echo the sentiment. The expression on his face says it all. The way his eyes darken with appreciation and desire as I approach gives me life. I know what that look means and what he wants. It takes all the willpower I possess not to kiss him senseless right then.

"You look incredible," he breathes almost reverently when we're finally standing together, "I can't even believe how beautiful you look right now or that you're actually mine."

"You look beautiful too." I reach up to tunnel my fingers lightly through the dark blonde waves of his hair. "And you kept it a little floppy after all."

"Per your request, madam."

"I love it," I whisper, "And I love you too."

I'm about to change my mind about kissing him when I suddenly remember the twelve pairs of eyes that are trained on us expectantly, waiting patiently for our ceremony to begin. I smile at Michael. "Are you ready to try this again, Detective Cordero?"

"As many times as we have to. But, for the record, I'm good with this being the last time."

"Good answer. Me too. Let's do this."

Mateo, in typical fashion, expresses his impatience with unabashed candor as Michael and I take our position in front of the fireplace. "Finally!" he exclaims dramatically before Rafael can rein him in, "I thought it would _never_ happen!" I'm still grinning over his response when I turn to our guests to recite the speech I have so painstakingly prepared for the occasion.

"Many of you were there with us when Michael and I were married the first time," I begin, scanning the crowd for all the familiar faces that I've come to cherish over the years, "And so you are already aware of the commitment that Michael and I share. It is strong, unshakeable and unbreakable. It has survived assumed death, crushing grief, five years of separation and a wealth of misunderstandings.

"But here we are again," I continue, pausing to favor Michael with a loving smile, "standing before you today to reaffirm those same vows we made to each other five years ago. We do not enter into this union lightly but with fully committed and the deep respect that a lifetime commitment demands. In fact, this day is merely a public declaration of the private promises that Michael and I have already made to one another. We will now exchange our vows before you and before God himself as a lasting testimony to our union and the children we will raise within that union."

I turn to Michael then and find that he is looking at me with tear brightened eyes. Although, I had been the one to write the speech, he and I had closely collaborated on its contents. We had wanted to make it known to everyone in attendance that we weren't making new vows to each other this day but instead reinforcing what has always been true, even during those five years that we were lost to each other.

And so I take his hands in my own and I say the words that have been written on my heart for what feels like eons of lifetimes. I promise to love, respect and honor him throughout all of my days, in good times and in bad times, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health for the rest of my life or until we are separated by death. But I know now that even death won't destroy the love that's between us. Because what we share between us transcends even that. Michael, in turn, makes the very same promises to me. He vows to be true to me, to be honest with me, to always put me first and to honor his commitment to me for all of the days of his life.

When it's finally done, he is crying openly and so am I. It's impossible not to be overwhelmed with emotion when he slips his ring onto my finger, especially because there was a time when I thought I would never wear it again. Seeing it back where it belongs feels a lot like coming home.

"Then by the power vested in me by the sunshine state of Florida, I now pronounce myself and Michael, husband and wife," I conclude with a happy smile, "Michael, you may kiss me now."

He cradles my face in his hands and sweeps me close for a fervent kiss. I can taste the salt of his happy tears when he does and they mingle with my own. I register the cheers and applause from our guests only on the periphery of my consciousness because right now, the only thing that exists for me is Michael Cordero, Jr. My entire world has reduced his mouth against mine, his arms banded around my body, his heart beating in time with my own. I have never felt more at oneness with him than in that precise moment. When he pulls away a short time later, we're both laughing.

"I can't believe you just married us practically in the same spot where we had our first kiss. That was both weird and epic at the same time. The only thing we needed was plaster snow falling on our heads."

"Well, I can always shoot another hole in the ceiling if you like," I tease him, "Besides, you wanted a story we could tell our grandchildren someday, right? If this isn't worthy then I don't know what is."

His eyes become soft and luminous then. "You remember that?"

"It was the first time you proposed to me, Michael," I tell him solemnly, "Of course I do, baby. I'll always remember."

"Yeah, because you were accidentally pregnant," he points out wryly.

"No. That's not why I'll remember," I reply before we turn to address our guests as husband and wife, "I'll remember because in that moment when everything in my world was upside down all I really wanted to do was to say yes to you."

Now that the ceremony is over, it's time to serve refreshments and prepare for dinner. I am actually stunned when the majority of our guests decide to remain for the reception afterwards. Unfortunately, Michael's father cannot stay long very long and Petra, J.R. (as Petra affectionately calls her) and the girls prepare to leave shortly after he does but not before Petra and J.R. offer their personal congratulations to me and Michael. While J.R. decides to give Michael some pertinent tips on making it through law school, Petra plucks me by the elbow and pulls me aside for a private word.

"I booked the honeymoon suite at the Marbella as a wedding present for you," she says with her usual terseness, "You're welcome."

"Oh, Petra. You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did. I owed it to you after all the harsh things I said to you when you were going through your 'husband back from the dead' thing. I should have been more supportive."

"You were looking out for Rafael."

"I should have been looking out for you too," she murmurs in uncharacteristic regret, "I guess I was mad at you because I knew you were going to break his heart…even before you did."

"How did you know that?"

"Because it has always been about Michael for you," she says, "In the beginning, I didn't see that. I thought we were both collateral damage in your and Rafael's grand love affair. I actually felt sorry for him once. But then you married him, the first time around I mean, and I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That Michael was the one who had your heart and he always had. He wasn't the collateral damage at all. Rafael was."

"No one is collateral damage! Stop saying that!"

"I suppose you're right," she murmurs, inclining a meaningful nod over towards Rafael where he stands with his arm draped over Katie Sisquo's shoulder as they converse with Michael and J.R. He whispers something in her ear and the brunette tosses her head back with coquettish laugh. "I don't know why I was so worried about him," Petra scoffs, "He always lands on his feet and with a pretty woman at his side." She peers at me with keen eyes. "And you're not at all jealous, are you?"

"No, Petra. Actually, I'm very happy for him. At last, the cycle is broken. Thank God."

"Good. Because I don't think I could stomach your godforsaken love triangle yet another time."

She and J.R. say their goodbyes soon after that while the remaining guests stay to enjoy the dinner my grandmother has prepared. Despite the clashing personalities at the table, dinner is a surprisingly cordial affair. Both my mother and Michael's mom entertain the guests with funny little foibles from each of our respective childhoods. We listen gamely to the embarrassing accounts with wide, affectionate smiles but mostly we only have eyes for each other. Later, we find a moment to slip out onto the porch together when everyone else is mellowed by wine and occupied with mingling.

Michael tugs me in his arms and kisses me with barely restrained passion before we even fully cleared the front door. "I can't wait to get you alone," he whispers against my lips, "I've been wanting to do this ever since you came out of the bedroom earlier."

Halfheartedly, I bat away his questing hands. "Michael, not where they can see," I giggle when he comes after me again.

"It's your fault for being so sexy," he mumbles in between nipping at my neck.

"Yeah, because the Goodyear blimp look is a real turn on," I gripe with an eye roll.

He cranes a sneaky look over his shoulder to glance through the open living room window, I suppose to ensure that the guests are still occupied, before taking my hand and pressing it firmly to his crotch. There is only fleeting contact before I yank my hand away with a laughing yelp but it's long enough to know that he's definitely aroused. I bite back my answering grin just because he looks pleased enough with himself already.

"I told you that you were looking really sexy," he murmurs seductively, "So how soon can we get out of here so I can take off that dress?"

I stare up at him with glassy eyes. "Now sounds like a great time."

That eager response earns me another hungry kiss. "Let me go grab my keys," he pants when we come up for air again, "I can get us to my apartment in ten minutes."

"Michael, wait!" I quickly snag hold of his sleeve before he can disappear. "Petra got us a room at the Marbella as a wedding present. The honeymoon suite." I bob my eyebrows at him playfully. "So what do you say?"

Once again, he seeks out my lips in a slow, sensual kiss. "I say we get out of here."

An hour later, we're stumbling our way into the Marbella honeymoon suite, wrapped in each other's arms and kissing wildly as we do. Michael has already stripped off his tie, jacket and dress shirt by the time we tumble through the door and begin our blind, groping trek towards the bed. He breaks our kiss just long enough to begin tugging his undershirt up and over his head and that's when I see the surprise that Petra has left for us.

"Oh my God, Michael…look!" I gasp, nudging him aside for a better look.

From my vantage point near the bed, I can see on an ornate serving cart covered with a white tablecloth in the center of our room is an array of flowers, an assortment of finger sandwiches, Beluga caviar and a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling cider. Michael, too, is impressed by the setup and whistles his approval. However, I reject his offer to go get ice for the cider even before he can even finish voicing it. I know it's unlikely to happen again but the idea of him venturing outside of our room makes me think back to the last time he did that…and how he was shot afterwards.

"Jane, you know that's not going to happen," he soothes, pulling me into the circle of his arms.

"I know that in my head," I mumble into his t-shirt, "But my heart is having trouble. Just don't leave the room, okay? Please?"

Michael doesn't say so but I know he thinks I am being paranoid. Still, he promises to remain inside without a single complaint. "I'm going to be locked in this room with a naked you and a bed all night long," he says, "How is that a bad thing?"

I giggle in response, relaxed enough now to venture forward and meticulously inspect everything that Petra left for us. As I get closer I also notice what is tucked _behind_ the food and flowers. A pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs, a bottle of cherry flavored stimulating gel, several sleek vibrators in various shapes, sizes and colors and what I can only assume are anal beads are neatly arranged on the tray as well. I choke in mortified horror when I realize that Petra has left me a varied selection of sex toys. But it's even worse when _Michael_ comes to stand behind me and has the same realization.

"Oh…oh wow," he breathes from over my shoulder as he takes it all in, "Are you sure that girls are the _only_ thing Petra is into? Because…what the hell?"

"I'm going to kill her."

He picks up a leather riding crop situated on the edge of the table and inspects it. "Okay, someone's into S&M… _big time_." He peruses the various leather binds and chains that decorate the table before finally stopping at something that looks suspiciously like a spiked dog collar. Michael hold it aloft with the tip of his index finger, his expression revolted. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Give me that." I snatch it back from him and toss it onto the table. "I am _definitely_ going to kill her."

"What exactly does she think you're into?" And then he frowns, as if something incredible just occurred to him. "Wait. Are you into this?"

"No!"

"You don't have to be so testy. I'm only asking. She left all of this stuff. I figured maybe you said something to her."

I lift my chin with a haughty sniff of disdain. "I did not ask for this, thank you very much."

"Look…" he says, pointing to a rectangular scrap of cardboard on the sterling silver, serving tray, "I think there's a card."

Flaming with embarrassment, I pluck the card from the tray to read what Petra has written. _Don't be afraid to be adventurous._ I'm about to question what that could possibly mean but when I look up at Michael again I can tell by his expression that he is more than a little eager for "adventure." His face is flushed pink with anticipation, his blue eyes alight with desire as he regards me.

"Michael?" I whisper with some surprise, "Are…are _you_ into this?"

He brushes a nuzzling kiss across my temple, his breath stirring against my skin as he whispers, "I could be into _some_ of it."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Like this…" he grabs the bottle of gel, "…and these…" he adds the handcuffs, "…and maybe this," he finishes after choosing one of the brightly colored, medium sized vibrators. "I bet we could have fun with this thing."

"Oh, I bet we could too. But we're not using that gel," I warn him laughingly, "The last time almost killed me. Wasabi crotch is not my idea of fun."

Michael has an easy solution for that as he pulls me into his arms for a kiss. "How about we use it on _my_ crotch this time then?"

I don't know if it's what he says, how he says it or the fact he's insinuating that he has a few sexual kinks but I am seriously turned on. When I return his kiss, it is with a ravenous need that I didn't know was inside of me. And suddenly, it's like we can't get close enough or kiss deep enough. He clasps me against him, parting my lips with his own, avidly, sweetly exploring the warm interior of my mouth with his tongue. I vaguely register the sensation of cool air on my bare back as Michael unfastens my gown and pushes the material aside so that he can press wet, heated kisses across my skin. Somehow, we manage to make it back to the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and half removed clothing with Petra's "gifts" clutched tightly in our hands.

Several "adventurous" hours and multiple orgasms later, I curl up against Michael's side, my body mildly achy as I lay with my head pillowed on his chest. I lightly skim the ridged scar on his upper, left chest, oddly comforted by its presence because it serves as a firm reminder that all of this is real. I'm not dreaming this moment at all.

The soothing lub dub of his heartbeat is almost enough to lull me to sleep. I am nearly halfway there, drifting away on a cloud of sated exhaustion, when I hear Michael whisper in a soft, incredulous tone, "We just had the dirtiest sex ever."

Grunting a laugh, I tip a sleepy, curious glance up at him. "Was it too dirty for you?"

"I think we could get dirtier if we put our minds to it," he suggests with a naughty smirk.

I settle back against him with a laugh and contented yawn. "Maybe…but it will have to wait until after I have the baby. It feels strange navigating around the belly."

He snuggles closer to me, burrowing his face into my disheveled hair. "I like navigating around your belly."

"Of course you do. You're a weirdo."

"Ah yes…but I'm _your_ weirdo."

"Yep, you are," I giggle into his chest before dropping an affectionate kiss to his nipple. "Thanks for being 'adventurous' with me tonight."

"There's no one else I want to be 'adventurous' with, Jane."

"What a coincidence. There's no one else I'd want to be 'adventurous' with either."

I think he might fall asleep then because he sounds so drowsy so I'm surprised when he murmurs, "I can hardly believe this is real. We got married today. You're really my wife."

I lift my head again to smile at him. "And you're really my husband."

"And no one got shot. Thank God!"

My answering laugh is muffled against his warm skin. "Amen."

"You know, when I was in that cell I used to dream of being with you like this," he confesses in an emotional murmur, sifting his slim fingers through my hair as he speaks, "I'd lie there for hours wanting you, wanting this. That's probably the only thing that kept me sane all those years. I honestly didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"I know how you feel. Even now, there are nights when I lie awake and watch you sleep because I'm afraid if I close my eyes when I wake up the next morning all of this will be a dream and I'll lose you again."

"I'm not a dream, Jane. I'm real. I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere ever again, not if I can help it. If I have anything to say about it, we are going to be together forever."

"Do you promise me that?"

He answers me with a shred of hesitation. "I promise you."

I lean forward to press a teary kiss to his lips. "I love you so much, Michael."

"I love you too…always."


	38. Epilogue

**A/N: Welp, it has been fun and real, you guys. Thanks for reading and Cordueva/Villadero forever!**

* * *

 **Epilogue (Michael POV)**

"See?" Jane preens, clearly proud of herself, "I told you that it would work out fine." I grumble in response to that, splitting my attention between the road ahead and side-eying her in disapproval. "Would you stop looking at me like that?" she cries in exasperation, "Nothing bad happened!"

"Yeah, only by the grace of God," I mutter irritably, "I don't want to argue about it. The sooner we get home, the better."

Jane is already well aware that I've been against this insane road trip since its inception. Therefore, the fact that we made it through the entire event relatively unscathed and are now on our way back to Miami in no way alters my opinion on the matter. This trip was a bad idea and ill-conceived from the start.

When her agent first contacted her with the idea of a preliminary book signing prior to her novel hitting the bookshelves nationwide, I had been excited and all for it. I was as almost as eager as Jane was to begin her book tour, especially because it would be delayed somewhat due to our daughter's impending birth. That is until I realized that the scheduled date of the signing was the same week as her due date. No bueno.

Further souring my enthusiasm was the fact that signing was scheduled to take place in Tampa, more than 280 miles away from Miami _and_ it was an overnight trip! For me, it hadn't been worth the risk. Naturally then, the entire idea quickly became a deal-breaker. For my "usually" cautious wife on the other hand? Not so much.

 _"_ _What do you mean you're going to do it? You're one week away from giving birth!"_

 _"_ _Michael, it will be fine. So far, I am barely effaced, dilated to nothing and I've barely had any Braxton Hicks. Dr. Benton already has me scheduled for a c-section if I don't go into labor before my due date."_

 _"_ _You could still go into labor, Jane! Should we even risk it with the placenta previa? That's the whole reason Dr. Benton recommended a c-section in the first place!"_

 _"_ _This will be a quick turnaround trip. Two days max! Besides, this will be my last opportunity to promote the book before I have the baby and go on maternity leave."_

No amount of reason would dissuade her. She was determined to go and so I took the last four days off of work because I was determined to be with her. But I have not been happy about it this entire time. Not at all. And I've made that fact plainly known…as much as possible.

"I don't understand why you even came at all if you only planned to sulk the whole time," she grumbles.

"Oh, I don't know," I retort sarcastically, "Maybe because I didn't want you to have our friggin' daughter without me!"

"That wasn't going to happen! That _didn't_ happen!"

"That doesn't mean that it _couldn't_ have happened!"

"So you're going to be mad at me for what _could have_ happened but _didn't_?"

"Yep," I reply, refusing to be intimidated by her superior tone or her implication that I am being unreasonable, "Sure am."

This sudden nonchalance of hers regarding labor is an interesting turnabout since, just two weeks prior she had been fairly obsessed with bringing it on. She had tried every home remedy and old wives tale imaginable to move things along. And when she learned from Dr. Benton that seminal fluid could sometimes soften and dilate the cervix I spent four days with my pants perpetually around my ankles. I never knew there was such a thing as _too_ much sex but those four days were probably the most fatiguing (and rawest) of my life!

And now she's acting like she's in no big hurry for our daughter to arrive but I'm not buying it. I know that the part of the reason she pushed for this trip so hard was because she'd hoped that tempting fate might kickstart her into labor. And, though she doesn't say so, I know that she's disappointed that nothing happened after all. I sympathize with her frustration but it doesn't make me any less aggravated with her, especially when she's so damned unapologetic about it all.

"You're being a baby right now, you know that, right?"

I flick an eye roll in her direction. "Takes one to know one."

She flutters her hand dismissively. "Good grief, Michael! I can't believe you're being so melodramatic!" she huffs, "It's not like anything happened the whole time we were there so I don't understand—oh!"

Immediately, I stiffen and swivel a glance at her following that surprised exclamation. She is sitting ramrod straight in the passenger's seat with her hands braced on the arm rests. Her facial expression can only be described as dubious horror. I feel my blood pressure shoot up about fifty points.

"Please do not tell me you just had a contraction. We're still an hour away from home."

"I didn't have a contraction." I'm about to wilt with relief when she adds, "But I'm pretty sure my water just broke."

I do a doubletake and inadvertently swing the car into the neighboring lane when I yell, "What?"

"Stay calm," she urges me fiercely, "Everything is going to be fine." But I don't know if she is trying to reassure me or herself.

I grip the steering wheel so hard I don't know how it doesn't snap apart in my hands. "Are you sure that's what it is? You know…sometimes you have little accidents. Maybe this is one of those times. Maybe you had a little accident."

"Thanks so much for reminding me about my problems with incontinence, Michael, but it's not that," she replies with a deadpan expression, "And yes, I am pretty sure that my water broke, which is actually very rare, almost as rare as giving birth on your due date…"

"Can you focus?" I snap impatiently.

"I felt a pop and then I felt wet. I still feel wet, like I'm peeing my pants. My water definitely broke."

Now I am panicking. All of my chill is gone. I mentally calculate how long it's going to take us to get to the hospital from our current location and I am feeling screwed. "Oh God. Oh God." I pin Jane with an accusing glare. "I knew this trip was a bad idea!"

"Are you really going to say 'I told you so' _right now_ , Michael?"

"I know! I'm sorry! But I'm freaking out here!"

"I'm freaking out too! Do you know how many women actually go into labor on their due date? Less than 5%! _I'm less than 5%, Michael!_ "

"Okay, okay," I say in a grounding tone, as much for her sake as my own, "Let's Google the local area hospitals. We can get you to one of those. We've got this."

I am relieved, thinking we have a solution to this mortifying dilemma but Jane crosses her arms in defiance. "I'm not having our daughter in a strange hospital."

How my head doesn't literally explode off of my neck in that moment, I do not know. "Are you freaking kidding me right now?"

"You remember what happened last time and I was in a hospital where I felt safe!" I almost want to cry when she shakes her head in stubborn refusal. "I'm not taking that chance."

"Jane," I begin with a measured calm that belies my inner turmoil, "Rose is not going to try and kidnap our daughter. She's on death row."

"I'll believe she's done with us when she's actually dead."

"How would she even know what hospital we're in?" But I should know better than to try and reason with her.

"How should I know? _She's_ the criminal mastermind, not me," she counters with a shrug, "But I know she has spies everywhere."

"Oh my God!" If I weren't gripping the steering wheel right now I might have thrown up my hands in frustration. But as it is I am laser focused on the task of keeping us on the road. "This is crazy. This is completely crazy!"

"I think it's going to be okay," Jane reasons and in that moment I am pretty sure she's lost her mind, "I am not even having contractions right now. I think we have plenty of time to get to our hospital. This can still happen according to my birth plan."

"You're joking."

"Michael, I've done this before. Trust me. We have time."

Famous last words.

For the next thirty five minutes we ride in relative silence. I'm too anxious to make conversation and Jane is trying to get comfortable while sitting in a puddle of amniotic fluid. I don't dare turn on the radio or tolerate anything that might distract me from making it to the hospital in the record time, especially now that darkness has descended. The quiet within the interior of the car is thick and intense which is why, when Jane yelps out a long, low moan of sudden agony, the sound is magnified in my ears.

" _That's_ a contraction," I determine in half statement, half question.

But Jane is unable to confirm my assumption either way because she is in too much pain to talk. I watch helplessly as she grits her teeth through the wave. Her fingers curl into the armrests, fairly trembling with the strength of the contraction. When, what seems like an eternity later, she weakly collapses back into her seat, her skin is covered with a fine sheen of perspiration and her breathing is harsh and labored.

"Now can we pull over and find a hospital, please?" I ask worriedly.

"That was only the first one," she pants.

"Well, the first one looked like it hurt."

"It did. But they need to be five minutes apart before I am even close." I vaguely remember her telling me the same thing when she was pregnant with Mateo. "How far away are we again?"

"About 25 minutes but I can make it there in twenty."

"Good. I'll call the family and tell them to meet us at the hospital."

She's barely begun to explain to her mother what's happening when another contraction abruptly grips her. She drops the phone and cries out sharply, her face contorted in a grimace of anguish. And I know it's not good that she's having another one because that was most definitely _less_ than five minutes since the last one! While Jane tries to ride out this latest wave, I grope around next to her hip for her cellphone.

I hear Xo frantically calling for Jane when I put it to my ear. "Xo, this is Michael. Jane's in labor. We need you to meet us at the hospital."

Of course Xiomara would want an explanation when I am almost too frantic to talk. "What do you mean she's in labor? Where are you right now? I thought you were at her book signing!"

"That's over! We're about twenty minutes out, in the car and on our way there! Just let everyone know we're coming." I hang up the phone just as Jane starts to relax in her seat.

"God," she mutters wearily, "Labor really hurts."

I frown my concern. "Looks like it. Was it like this with Mateo?"

"I had an epidural with Mateo," she says in a way that makes it clear that she longs for one right now.

"Are you sure we can make it?"

I'm especially worried, not only due to the fear that she might give birth in the car but also because of her pre-existing medical condition. The placenta previa hasn't really caused too many worrisome symptoms throughout her pregnancy other than some intermittent bleeding. However, Dr. Benton has continually expressed to us the importance of Jane giving birth under medical supervision, which lets me know that it's a big deal even if our OB and Jane didn't necessarily _act_ like it was.

"Just let me pull over and do a quick search," I plead.

"No. I can make it. What is the hospital…like fifteen minutes away now?"

"More like nineteen but what's four minutes when you're in active labor?"

Nine minutes later she has had a total of four contractions and is currently locked in the jaws of a fifth one. Tears of sympathy burn the backs of my eyes as I watch her writhe because there's not a thing I can do to ease her discomfort. "We're almost there, Janie. Ten more minutes and we'll be at the hospital. Just hold on, babe."

I quickly put in a call to dispatch to request a police escort for the remainder of our journey. Once we reach the city limits going 90 miles per hour won't be feasible and I'm going to need backup. I offer her a trembling smile when the tension in her body finally begins to lessen.

"Help is on the way, Jane," I tell her, "We're going to make it."

But far from comforting her, Jane looks at me with an absolutely terrified expression. "Michael, you have to pull over now."

At first, I don't understand the reason for the urgency in her tone so I try to reassure her. "Our police escort will be here soon. It'll be okay."

"No, you have to pull over right now!" she yells hysterically, "The baby is coming _right now_!"

And it still doesn't hit me fully what she's trying to tell me until she unclicks her seatbelt, wiggles out of her sodden underwear and props her feet up against the dashboard. Then I get it. The baby is _literally_ coming at this very second. I utter the first words that spring into my mind right then. "Holy shit." On autopilot now, I have just enough time to pull off the highway and into the bustling parking lot of a Target when Jane starts to push.

"No! No! Don't do that!" I beg her, "Janie, don't do that!"

"I have to!" she grinds out from between clenched teeth, "Michael, help me!"

I seriously don't know what the hell I am supposed to do but I throw off my seatbelt anyway and scramble around to the passenger's side. When she finally scoots around and props up her legs, bracing her feet against my shoulders, I know without question that delivery is imminent and I'm going to have to do something about it. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"Jane, I can see her head! What do I do?" Her expression clearly screams, "how the hell should I know," before she throws her head back to push yet again and scream through her next contraction. I watch with a mixture of horror and fascination as my daughter's tiny face begins to emerge from the birth canal and I instinctively begin coaching Jane through it. "That's right, babe," I encourage her, "Keep pushing. She's coming! Almost! Almost here!"

"Dios mío, esto es insoportable!" she wails at the top of her lungs and the exclamation shocks me because I can't remember hearing Jane ever speak much Spanish. And while I'm still pretty rusty when it comes to speaking and translating, I'm rather sure the rough translation of what she said is, "This hurts like a motherfu-,"

"Michael, I'm so sorry!" she gasps when her contraction starts to ebb, "You were right. We shouldn't have gone. I don't know what I was thinking! You were right."

"None of that matters right now, Jane," I reassure her softly, "Just breathe, okay. It's going to be fine."

"I'm scared," she whimpers, "What if something goes wrong? What if I start hemorraging? I didn't think this through. I should have thought it through!"

She has plenty of reasons to be scared, namely because she's about to deliver in the front seat of our car and without any medical personnel present. All she has is me and I'm scared too. Actually, I'm freakin terrified but I let none of that show as I reassure her. "Let's not worry about it now. Don't be scared, babe. We're together. We can do anything. You've got this. I know you do."

"I'm so glad you're here. I couldn't do this without you, Michael."

Jane finds my hand and gives it a tight squeeze as another contraction takes hold. In the near distance I can hear the familiar wail of police sirens, see the approach of the flashing red and blue lights beyond the car window as Jane fights to push our daughter into the world. The next ensuing seconds whiz by for me in a blur. Half a dozen cops cars, a firetruck and an ambulance come skidding into the parking lot as Jane screams one final time, her body contorts and the baby slides free. The ambulance screeches to a halt and two paramedics jump out only seconds before my newborn daughter drops into my waiting arms.

She's slimy, slippery and covered with some kind of cheesy substance. I look down into her tiny, wizened face that is obscured with blood and mucus and I don't think that I've ever been more in love in my life than I am right this second. When I finally place my squalling, squishy newborn daughter into her mother's open, eager arms, we are both crying and laughing at the same time. "We did it, babe," I whisper proudly, kissing Jane's temple again and again as the medics swoop in, "We really did it." It's only then that I realize that we've had a crowd of spectators behind us almost the entire time.

Jane and the baby are transported to the hospital by ambulance but not before I'm reassured that they both appear to be in healthy condition, despite some initial heavy bleeding for Jane following the birth. The brief hemorrhaging is controlled by the time the medics load her and the baby up into the cab. I'm glad that it worked out but I also know that if they hadn't shown up at exactly the right time, we could have very well had a serious problem on our hands.

I follow behind them in the car, wondering vaguely if blood and amniotic fluid can be scrubbed from car upholstry. When I finally stumble through the through the doors of labor and delivery the Villanuevas and my parents all descend on me at once. It's only when I see my parents that I realize how long it must have taken us to finally arrive at the hospital. We must have spent quite a while on scene while the EMTs stabilized Jane and checked out the baby.

"Oh my God! What happened, Michael?" Xiomara cries when she sees my disheveled appearance and blood stained clothes, "Where is Jane?"

"She had the baby in the car," I explain wearily, "We just arrived a few minutes ago. I'm sure they'll call us back soon."

"Wait a minute," Rogelio guffaws in disbelief, "You delivered the baby?"

"Not exactly. More like I watched Jane deliver her and I caught her when she came out."

"Oh my God," my mother and Xiomara exclaim simultaneously and that seems to be the go to phrase right now. "Are they okay?" Xo presses further, "Was everything okay?"

"Yeah, Xo. You gotta see her. She's so beautiful."

"Aww. Congratulations, Michael." Impervious to my soiled clothing, she throws her arms around me in a tight hug which starts the processional for my parents, Rogelio and Alba to hug and congratulate me as well. "Where's Mateo?" I ask when I notice his absence, "He's not with you?"

"I told Rafael to come pick him up after you called," Xo says, "Do you want him here?"

"Yeah. He should meet his baby sister."

She is in the middle of making the call when I hear, "Michael Cordero?" I swing around to find a nurse waiting. "We're ready to take you back now." As soon as she says that, my parents, Rogelio, Xiomara and Alba all line up behind me. The nurse blinks at us in trepidation. "Whoa, this is a lot of people."

"And we've got two more coming," I tell her.

"It's okay," she says brightly, "I'm pretty sure you'll all fit." As we follow her back to the delivery room where Jane has been admitted, she cannot stop gushing about how beautiful and amazing my daughter is and all I can do is grin. I'm certain that there's never been a more beautiful baby in all the world.

Before leading us directly to Jane's room, the nurse offers me a blue scrub top to replace my bloody dress shirt for which I am grateful. The last thing I want is for Mateo to show up at the hospital and find me covered in his mother's blood. I want him to remember this day as a happy one, not be traumatized for life. While my family and in-laws wait outside, I quickly duck into a nearby bathroom to change before we all go in to see Jane.

When I finally poke my head into the hospital room, I see Jane situated on the bed with our daughter cradled in her arms. She already has an IV with fluids hanging and is wearing a hospital gown. When she sees me, she excitedly beckons me closer, her smile widening considerably when she sees that I have company as well. "Come over here, Michael," she whispers, "Look how much hair she has!"

The baby is a lot cleaner than the last time I saw her, so I have a better view of her tiny, perfect face. And just as I've always secretly hoped, she looks exactly like her mother. I smile at them both gently as Jane lifts the tiny baby cap to reveal the swirls and swirls of jet black hair beneath. "Isn't it gorgeous? Isn't she just the most precious thing ever?"

I can hardly take my eyes off the baby, nor can I stop touching her when I answer. "Yeah, she is. But I think she gets the hair from you."

"And you," my mother pipes in softly, "You had a head full of white, blonde curls when you were born. You looked like a little cherub."

"Really?" Jane and I laugh simultaneously.

She confirms that with a nod but then my father adds wryly, "They fell out about three weeks later though. Then you looked like a plucked chicken."

My grumpy, "Thanks, Dad," is barely heard over everyone's ensuing laughter.

Slowly, they all begin to coverge around the bed for a closer look at the baby. My parents and I flank Jane on one side while Alba, Xiomara and Rogelio take the other. Everyone stares down at the baby in cooing awe, as enamored with her as we are. "I can't believe she was born in the car," Xo laughs, "I guess she couldn't wait to get here."

"That is a Villanueva woman for you," Rogelio says, "They come on their own time. Trust me." He lifts his hand for my high five of agreement and I gladly give it to him only to receive warning glances from the wife, the mother-in-law and the mother for my trouble.

"Entonces, ¿ya tiene un nombre?" Alba asks me.

Jane and I exchange a small, secret smile before I reply, "We're waiting for Mateo to get here."

The aforementioned comes bounding into the room fifteen minutes later while the parents are all taking turns holding the baby. Rafael comes skidding in behind him a few seconds later, admonishing Mateo about running off but Mateo hardly acknowledges him. He has eyes for his sister only.

"Is that her? Can I see her?" Mateo squeals in absolute delight, "Can I hold her?"

"Sure, buddy," I murmur, carefully scooping my daughter from my mother's arms and going over to sit on the couch just beneath the window. When I'm settled, I motion for Mateo to come closer. As he tentatively moves to sit down next to me, Jane watches us with brimming eyes. "This is your sister," I tell him gently, "I'm going to show you how to hold her and then I'm going to put her in your arms. Okay?"

"Okay."

After a few, brief instructions on how to support her head, I place the baby into the cradle of Mateo's small arms. The expression on his face is wonderstruck and I recognize it immediately. I'm sure it mirrors my own. He stares down at his baby sister like she's the most perfect being in the entire universe. I have absolutely no doubt in that moment that he will spend the rest of his life protecting her. The thought actually causes my throat to close with emotion.

"She's so small," he whispers. He fingers her soft cheek with extreme tenderness. "She's pretty."

"Yeah, she is," I whisper back.

"Does she have a name yet?"

Jane is the one who answers his question. "No, we were waiting for you. Remember that we made a deal. You can choose her first name just like we discussed."

He looks down at the baby again, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Okay. I know what I want," he says finally and I prepare myself to live with whatever hideous name he comes up with. "Adrianna. I want to name her Adrianna."

Jane and I trade a round of quick, relieved smiles before she commends Mateo on his choice. "That's a good name, Mr. Sweetface," she utters emotionally, "That's an excellent name." She glances over at me in silent confirmation. "So, I guess that makes it official then."

"It makes what official?" Xo asks.

Taking my unspoken cue from Jane, I address the room and officially introduce our daughter to the family. "Everyone, I would like you to meet Adrianna Michaela Xiomara Villanueva-Cordero," I announce with a soft smile directed towards my wife, only vaguely aware of the emotional murmurs the name stirs up because I only have eyes for Jane, "The fourth generation in an incredible line of strong Villanueva women."

 **The Beginning**


End file.
